


Dread Wolf Guide Us

by Alexis_Trvlyn



Series: Dissonant Verses [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, DA4 speculation and subversion, F/M, Felassan is a bro, Hurt/Comfort, I am low-key digging it, Inverse Solavellan, Lovely readers suggested an in-world Solavellan fanclub, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Slow Burn, Solas gets the Mark, Solas regrets everything, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:27:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28716510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexis_Trvlyn/pseuds/Alexis_Trvlyn
Summary: Happiness was frail and he was a fool. He hoped. He craved. He yearned.It changed everything.Set in a world where everything that could possibly go wrong had gone wrong, faced with a chance to do it all over again, Solas would turn back time and change the course of his fate; beginning once more from the year of his awakening after uthenera, Solas would lead the Inquisition and Thedas to a new future.---A sequel but not-exactly-sequel to Carrion for Crows, but follows the event of that world-state. Contains spoiler/foreshadowing for that story. The Dissonant Verses series is NOT Trespasser compliant since it explores alternative ideas like 'corrupt Inquisition' and 'Solas listening to his regrets'. Can be read independently.
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas, Fen'Harel | Solas/Female Lavellan
Series: Dissonant Verses [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2050233
Comments: 105
Kudos: 60





	1. The World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dore_N](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dore_N/gifts), [Hezjena2023](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hezjena2023/gifts).



> Gifting this to my two beloved AO3 writers: Dore_N and Hezjena2023
> 
> My heartbreak buddies, we need more happiness for our bbs.  
> \---
> 
> There are things here that spoil or foreshadow the events of my main DAI fic, Carrion for Crows. 
> 
> With that being said, both of these fics are not Trespasser compliant in a sense that the entire Dragon's Breath conspiracy happened differently and there are major changes and twists to the Inquisition campaign in Carrion for Crows - an exploration of what a corrupt Inquisition would be like - as well as twists to the fate of the Herald/Inquisitor Lavellan. So in case no one mentions a cut-off left arm, that's why.
> 
> All of said changes will be mentioned briefly in this fic, so if you're not up to reading Carrion, no worries, I had this written with the intention of it being a stand-alone piece.
> 
> Thanks to you all who are reading! <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _...And amidst this light and fire I heard music and soft singing, thunderclaps and the roar of a tempest, the rumble of falling mountains and earthquakes._

He carried his heart in his arms; heavy, cold and lifeless. 

The waters of the Fade rose from the wounds of the Earth, and along the divide, the sky began to bled green. Above him, the darkness was the graveyard of dying stars. Islands crumbled into powder, raining down upon them as clouds of grey. Down below, the woods burned red and the seas froze to black ink. The sweet onion smell of charred flesh was everywhere. Bone dust and ashes collect in the stagnant air, foaming at exposed gaps between the intangible dream and materialized reality like gas from a bloated cadaver.

The world was ending.

_Vunal alin'din. Din'an alin vunem._

This world must die so a new world could begin anew.

A clean slate.

But all he saw was dirt and ruin.

There was nothing around him now but distant rumbles and an empty land. The screams of the dying were concluded quickly by the silence of death. 

And he felt nothing. 

Only an expanding hollowness that grew deeper and darker than any abyss.

He was nearing the edge of a cliff and he could see the plane of fire roaring without end. The storm around him boomed like a war drum, hammering down countless pillars of blue-white bolt. The ground was dry and parched.

He sat down unceremoniously. His joints creaked as he bent, tired from walking for days uncounted. Or perhaps, it had only been hours. He could not tell anymore. Day and night bled with each other, the difference was no longer consequential. In the larger scheme of things, nothing ever was. Alone, time seemed to tangle, a confused, melancholic medley, and he was weary.

He looked up to the theater of destruction he orchestrated. He half-expected, half-hoped the lightning would strike him - let this all be over with - but it never did. 

There were no heroes in war, only the dead and the victor. The remains of a broken world was hardly a consolation.

He laid his heart down, slowly. 

Her pale skin and hair were all drenched in gore. The welts of her facial scar shone red, ridges of traumatized skin looked as fresh as the day she carved them with a shard. Ashes of her clan were buried beneath the integument, rising at the pinkish soil of her face like newly buried bodies. The angry markings bore the image of Dirthamen’s vallaslin, crude and ugly.

Even still, she was beautiful.

When she came into his life, his world began to be defined by her: the silence became her presence. The waves became the undulation of her voice. The warmth of the sun became her caress. Life reminded him of her and she reminded him to live, dreaming and singing and longing for the summers to come.

But she was gone now.

The dream had sailed.

_"Cast your spell. Take the Veil away."_

Drained of all life and magic, the green whorls were fading in her greying skin. 

His heart.

His anchor.

His foci.

Once, he had tried to save her, wrench her free from the cage of death. He had twisted his magic and imbued it with her memories, creating a shadow of a being out of it. A warped reflection. A reality encased in yellowing resin. Undying. Unliving. A spirit without a purpose – lost and lonesome, born from an act of desperation. A desecration. A demon.

And for what?

Selfishness. Sentimentality. Stupidity.

 _And now, she lay lifeless in my arms once more._ The light of his life dimmed, dooming him alone in the dark.

Another body amongst the foundations. Another effort that ended in futility. Another sacrifice for a duty that meant _nothing._

All he ever did was careen the world towards fire and doom.

_A traitor and a murderer._

He chuckled humorlessly. And to think the worst of his crimes were all done for love.

And here he was now, at the twilight of his days. The end to end all ends. If this last effort failed, then there was nothing more.

He held her wrist gently, letting it rest in his grip limply. He pulled the hand up and kissed her knuckles. The dried blood stuck to his lips and he licked them across the chapped skin, tasting the bitter iron. 

_If only I knew this was how it would end…_

But he was a fool.

A fool who knew _nothing._

The world was ending, and he found he did not care.

The ground started to crack. He held onto her tighter, rocking them both to the rhythm of the quakes. A whiplash of magic billowed forward like a rushing wave, pecking along the surface of his skin like a murder of crows. He winced, not bothering to cast a barrier to ease the prickling pain. 

All he has now was a day; a day to mourn, a day of pain, a day alone.

A day to recount what could have been and a thousand what ifs, and maybes, and perhaps-es that would never ever turn into another sunrise and nightfall he could have spent dreaming under the stars and waking in laughter and living a life filled with love. 

All that remained now was regret.

Unbidden, her voice bloomed in his thoughts, singing the song she had always loved to sing. The memory of her smiling eased him as the lyrics glided on her tongue like the summer rains, cool and comforting against the harsh heat of his reality.

_"Too long I have travelled, soon I'll see her smiling… the girl from the Red Crossing I'm longing to see…"_

Emotions choked him and he swallowed. He felt his body tremble. The temperature around him started rising. Boiling. Pressing his mouth to her temple, he began to cry.

_"I've dreamed of the kiss I stole 'neath the arbor… I've dreamed of the promise 'neath the old ash tree… One last stream to cross, one last hill to wander… Until I read the love I'm longing to see… Oh, I know she is there... daisies in her hair... waiting by the Chantry... to marry me..."_

Tears dribbled uncontrollably down his cheeks and he curled to himself, cradling her and sobbing amidst the wasteland he meticulously designed as motes of cinder rained like confetti. 

At the horizon, enshrouded by thick mist and smog was the thread-like beginnings of dawn, the first sunrise to ever cut its way through the impenetrable darkness of the last years. It was searing. The brilliance cut through his sight straight to the back of his skull like a thousand jabbing needles. And yet, he did not close his eyes even if the light would blind him. 

Perhaps, that would be merciful, unsee the horrors he had done.

Then, Time began to shift and collapse around him. Tendrils of magic tingled and tangled beneath his fingertips like a puppeteer's string. 

He was stunned. _...It is working...?_

Broken hope inflamed him anew. He laughed, a hollow merry sound. He raised her head close to his heart and rasped, _"Vhenan_ … look."

There was his chance to reshape the world once more, make the tragedy of the years _unhappen._

He reached out greedily and suddenly, his entire being burned as a flash of encompassing light fried his senses.

It hurts. Oh, how it _hurts._

He gritted his teeth amidst the pain, extending his arms and reaching out to the unbearable heat, to a _feeling_ he could neither grasp nor comprehend, wrestling for control. He could feel the magic unshackled his mind and his thoughts away from his body, a floating consciousness, melting and melding, pulling him to the center of wholeness.

Something connected.

Everything disappeared, and then everything reappeared all at once: pain, pleasure, hunger, satiation, joy, sadness, anger, all in its potency. A vision of all life surged through him, battering the walls of his being. The storm of sensation tried to erode who he was, erase all traces of his own thought until everything he was, everything he knew, would cease to exist. 

A return to nothingness.

A clean slate. 

Oh, how easy it would be to allow it so. But he held on. His mind was his. His memories were his. Not even Time could wash away who he was and what she had meant to him.

 _I will never forget you._

He screamed, like he never screamed before, coiling deeper and further inside himself, weathering him against the onslaught of intrusive thoughts and warring ideas that sought to dominate him. He held on tighter to his wretched and shredded heart, agony be damned, and within this torrent of torment and desire, he found her.

Only her.

In the chaos, it was her memory that shone the brightest. His one guiding star. The light of his life. His heart.

_Will you spend another lifetime with me?_

She smiled and he reached out for her.

The madness about him calmed and he felt himself come _alive._

The stories were right, he supposed: The world was ending and the Dread Wolf hugged himself with glee.

_Hope._

_Hope is a horror._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Ellana sings in his memory is from canon codex: The Girl from Red Crossing. 
> 
> It's about the forbidden romance between an elf from the Dales and a human from Red Crossing that ultimately led to the Exalted March of the Dales  
> \---  
> All elvhen language that are not canon are taken from fenxshiral's lexicon. Credit is where credit is due.


	2. The Fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _...The fool always carries them, although he has long since forgotten what they mean. Nevertheless they belong to him, even though he does not know their use._

It was the beginning of autumn, and Solas was in love.

He shivered underneath his wool cloak and his breath fogged as he climbed up the steep Frostback along with the rest of the pilgrims. It was just the start of dawn and pinkish light peeked through the leaves, wrapping them in gold. Thick snow crunched under his enchanted footwrap, but they were light enough that the green grass was still visible through the thin white sheet. There was lightness in his steps that was never there before. 

There was simplicity to his cause now, a clarity of purpose, one he never thought he would find again.

He looked about him and wondered, what changed?

Not much, if he thought about it.

The Orb was still at the hands of Corypheus.

Events would unfold as they did a lifetime ago, and here he was once more, following the same old familiar steps, watching the same dead faces come back to life, arguing about the same harsh weather, the same smell of anxiety about them, sharing amongst themselves the same fearful whispers of uncertainty. 

The faces he saw, most of them would live a life of predetermined suffering and death and there was nothing he could do about it.

Nothing that would _not_ threaten his own goal.

_Harden your heart into a sharpened edge._

The pain was a tool. A sharp reminder of the stakes at hand. Something to keep close, but never unfurled.

It would not do to dwell on the regrets of his past. To count the uncountable grave markers of his memory. Whatever emotion he may have had, he must keep it all in a tight lid. The destruction of that doomed life has ushered a new beginning. A new possibility.

This time he would do things _right._

He should be more careful, knowing what he knew, there were things he _could_ and _could not_ do - the most crucial of which was to change the succeeding events that would render all his future knowledge obsolete.

For her.

_Why does one life matter so?_

Because the world only had meaning if she was in it. 

And he was nothing if not a selfish old fool. 

Worse, he was a monster. 

The admission did not so much raise a protest in him. It was the truth. He had murdered the world once for an ideal that never came to pass. He had played the judge, the jury and the executioner, only to find his verdict erroneous. Now, he would take on the same mantle again and gamble everything, the only difference was the stake.

_Dirthara ma._

Solas chuckled to himself. He _never_ did learn. 

A fool to the end.

“I know that look. You’re scheming.”

Solas did not bother to look back as he continued his stride. “Is that even a surprise at this point?”

Felassan chuckled, jogging to close their distance, “No. But you obviously know more than you let on.”

“And?”

 _“And!_ You are still a reticent and an insufferable know-it-all.” Mythal’s former Sentinel rubbed both of his hands, tucking them back underneath his cloak. His vallaslin was hidden by the shadow of his long hood. The air was getting thinner the higher they climbed, but none of that seemed to deter him from babbling. “So, lovely mountain. Fresh air all around, slightly tinged with fear and despair, especially when you are down south. But over-all… a ten-over-ten.”

Solas eyed him briefly, pushing himself with his wooden staff as the incline grew steeper. It took all of him to propel himself back through time and none of his accumulated future powers remained. Only his memories. He was as magically inadequate as he first woke in _uthenera_ prior to him joining the Second Inquisition.

“Well,” Felassan clicked his tongue. “It’s a long way up.” He glanced at Solas sideways. “Might I interest you with a bit of chatter?”

“If I said ‘no’, will you respect it?”

Felassan grinned, “Looks like someone got their sarcophagus opened the wrong side up.”

“It would seem someone wants to crawl back to theirs. I would be happy to assist.”

 _“Oh-ho_ , that’s no way to talk to an old friend,” Felassan laughed. “Now that I think about it, I prefer you asleep.”

“And I preferred you quiet, but that is neither here nor there.”

Felassan raised both his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. I got it. Cool and quiet. _Cool_ and _quiet.”_

And he whistled on an obnoxious tune until they reached the gates that led to Haven.

***

Before reaching the village proper, he and Felassan had separated ways. The town was just as Solas remembered before a dragon and an avalanche buried it in the snow. 

He suddenly felt weak.

He knew these people. He ate with them. He bled with them. Short his time with them were, they were moments well-shared. To see them all now like - like _this -_ living and thriving once more...

A familiar ache weighted his chest. His knees wobbled and he lent onto his staff. Nostalgia hit him harder than he anticipated. He breathed in, breathed out until he was certain he was steady.

It would not do to fall apart now.

Solas wandered around, taking in the living memory of the place. There was Harritt in the smithy, Flissa in the tavern, Maryden strumming lively on her lute. Even the exasperating Seggrit, sitting at his stool being the damnable man that he was. And he could name many passing faces, even recognized more.

His heart was full to bursting. He was overjoyed.

A trickling laughter caught his attention. His heart skipped a beat and Solas felt equally nervous and exhilarated. It was a vile feeling, to be this relieved after all he had done, after what he had given up to be here once more, but the wretch that he was found himself smiling as he turned.

And there she was, in a simple attire of browns and cheaply made boots that did not tarnish her luminosity. She was speaking animatedly with another woman and her hands fluttered in excitement. In this timeline, she was unscarred, unmarked and undeniably _alive._

_Ellana._

In his long life, he had seen many wonders. Elvhenan was full of them, it was after all the jewel of the known world: Tapestries that shone like rubies of the purest red, still duller than her full-lipped smile; glimmering halls of topazes as bright as the sun, still dimmer than her laughter; pools of clearest sapphires like boundless seas, still shallower than the depth of her eyes; luscious gardens of emeralds like that of a forest kissed by dew, still lifeless against the vivacity of her spirit; and there were so many more and _yet…_

None could stand in comparison to her.

_Ma vhenan._

Solas longed to go to her and introduce himself, say the things he should have said, do the things he should have done. But he reined in those fantasies. He could not - _must not_ \- interfere at such a crucial point for fear a small change would ultimately lead to the failure of his goal.

_Her life matters more than my desire._

Once, he fought against all odds to save the world from tyrants. Once, he thought his duty to his People had defined him. Once, he thought of love as a self-sacrifice, pure and unselfish.

Now he had altered Time, an act with unforeseeable monumental consequence, to save only one person - just the one - and with the most selfish and honorable reason a hypocrite like him could possibly muster:  
  
Because she did not deserve her cruel fate.  
  
_You think saving one life will absolve you?  
  
_No. No absolution. No forgiveness _._

The People would never forgive him if they knew how close he was from bringing their world back and instead he had chosen her.  
  
The people here now would never forgive him knowing he had uprooted their lives and engineered the chaos that was to come.  
  
Ellana would never forgive him if she knew who he truly was and all that he had done.

She hadn't before.

He was beyond anyone's forgiveness. There was no higher power that could offer him one. He had seen through Time's End and there was nothing more beyond it.

Only regret lingered, his undying companion.   
  
And it wasn't forgiveness he strove for, only that his heart be spared.  
  
He would take it all: the hate, the blame, the punishment - any price, barter it all, body and spirit, it mattered not. All of this and more for her, and her _alone._ She would never again endure the same suffering she had been persecuted with a lifetime ago for as long as he breathe.

 _I will carve paradise out of the Void if need_ be.

Solas vowed he would keep this promise, whatever it took and for whatever means necessary.

And with his Anchor and his orb, he very well could.

The days and nights he spent in Haven was a mingling of pain and pleasure. A bramble of emotions constantly warred within him: anger and impotence whenever he was unable to aid her as she faced human prejudice, and mingling with it was the desperate longing of a fool still helplessly hoping she would take notice of him. A glance, a greeting, a smile.

But in the end, he did nothing as nothing was to be done, and so Solas endured in solitude. He kept to the shadows, watching and waiting for fate to play its part. 

In the dreamscape, Felassan met with him. This time, Solas refrained from cloaking himself. He was tired of the pretenses. He walked around the backdrop of sleepy Haven, knowing each closed door contained the thoughts, longing and dreams of each villager. A familiar silhouette appeared at his periphery.

"Everyone's uptight," Felassan began in greeting. "This Conclave is pointless. If talking _ever_ worked, Thedas wouldn't be in such a mess, don't you agree?" 

"Diplomacy has its place."

"Yes, but diplomacy - _negotiation_ \- is primarily precipitated by trust. Back there," Felassan made a motion with his thumb. "They are all ready to strangle each other."

Solas only chuckled.

Felassan grinned. "So, what's our plan?"

"I will intercept the magister's Ritual."

Felassan furrowed his brows. "Why? The resulting explosion will most likely level the place. I hardly doubt anyone could survive that.”

Solas stared back at those inquisitive purple eyes, “You spoke highly of these people. Do you truly believe they have not found a way to combat the effects? It would be unwise not to plan for a contingency.”

“People…" Felassan echoed. He looked at him oddly. “You’ve changed.”

“I have been dreaming for thousands of years, Felassan. Time's passed. Things change."

“...You don't say.” Felassan's face was colored with suspicion.

Solas ignored the furrowing of his brows and continued, "I would need you to remain here, in Haven…" 

"...And prepare for the aftermath, I understand."

"Good."

Felassan rubbed an ear. He was obviously uneasy. Instead of dismissing him, Solas decided to wait him out. Finally, the sentinel looked up and said, “I don’t know why you still trust me to do this. I already failed you once. I know what that meant.”

Solas could hear the question he wanted to ask, but would never dare to speak. Not unless he brought it up himself. Solas cocked his head to the side, “And what would killing you have accomplished?”

He had been right, Felassan looked equally fearful and flustered. “A lesson? A punishment for insubordination? You know I didn’t fail because I was out-witted. I allowed Briala to leave with the key. I _allowed_ it to happen.”

“I know.”

"I lost us the Crossroads."

"I am aware of that."

"You were unable to control the Eluvian Network because of me!"

"That is correct."

“Then, why?” Felassan started to pace. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

“Must it?”

“What?” Felassan's eyes bulged in surprise.

And Solas almost laughed, but that would have been cruel to Felassan, who did not know how nonsensical his life had been ever since the first time he woke up after his _uthenera_ a lifetime ago. Still, Solas couldn't keep the dry amusement out of his voice. “Must it make any sense?”

Felassan gaped at him as if he sprouted another head. It was an amusing expression. If they weren't discussing a concerning subject, Solas would have pointed out how ridiculous he looked.

“Gods, you are _insufferable._ If – if this is some sort of game…? _”_ Felassan wrung his hands in infinite loops.

“It is not, I assure you, for all my assurance is worth. I deducted that you are best suited for this task. I trust you will succeed.”

“Who are you? What have you done with Solas? The man I knew trusted no one. You made an elaborate system to ensure no agent would betray the cause. You spoke in dreams. Your armies are whispers. You planted seeds of ideas and used pawns to further sow chaos and smoke your movements. You _have_ plans! Reasons for your actions. Causality! But this?! I-I don't understand…"

Solas closed his eyes and replied simply, “We adapt to the times."

Felassan’s lips moved, but no words left them. He slumped down to the nearest log, baffled into silence. Snowflakes sprinkled like tiny little fireflies around them. After a while, he looked up, confusion was replaced by determination.

“If that is your wisdom. You are the leader I chose. I will follow you, to death and beyond.”

“All I ask is you do not do so blindly.” Solas looked down on his hands and wondered if Felassan could see it black with blood. His eyes started to moisten, but he blinked them away. Softly, he confessed, “...I need my friend more than I need my agent.”

Felassan took a while to reply, stunned as he was. Finally, he nodded, “And you shall have him, _brother.”_

***

It was on the third day when things began to fall into place.

Ellana was boarding a carriage filled with wine barrels and was heading straight to the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

_The pivotal moment._

Hurriedly, Solas headed to the outer walls of the village and straight into the wilds. Far from privy eyes, he began to shift his form. 

In fur and all fours, navigating the frozen mountains was simpler. Solas covered large areas in a short amount of time. He augmented his magic along the sinews of his muscle, allowing him to run faster, enabling his senses to become sharper and making him less exhausted. The Fade rippled beneath his heels. The wolf was efficient.

He reached the Temple of Sacred Ashes through its side. The walls were high and made of the sturdiest timber, dotted with small glass windows at several intervals. Twisting the Veil, Solas propelled his jump higher than normally possible, landing on the roof with a soft thud. He still recalled the layout and scale of the temple. By the guidance of his memories, he hypothesized the probable source of the Breach, and searched for the nearest possible entrance. 

He found it through an unassuming window via the second floor.

Sniffing, he found the room empty. He proceeded to break open a window, and used his magic to ensure the glass shattered, its shards landing soundlessly on the wooden floorboards. Entering, he came lightly down on two elvhen feet.

Once inside, he let the undulation of magic guide him. He blended easily to the shadows like a smoke in the wind, and the knights and mercenaries passed him by unawares. The magister was going through the meticulous process of the Ritual. It was barely felt, but Solas recognized the off-key notes as the Veil started to distort and warp. _I must hurry!_ He turned to the last corner and was obstructed by a ward.

_An obfuscating spell. Crude but effective._

Solas drew his hand out and felt the magic tangle along his skin like a spider’s web. He moved forward. It was unpleasant, but it was over just as quickly. It was a simple and yet a notable trick. Especially against those who were magically-challenged.

This new hall was still and quiet. Solas could feel the underlying tension of magic ready to snap. Then, a loud commotion alerted him. He quickly hid behind the shadows as the joggling of metal plates and loud bark of mabaris filled the hall he had just left. 

Then he saw her again.

Panic stricken and in tattered clothing, Ellana hopped forward to the warded hall. Solas watched her struggle as she swam forward, almost tripping as she pushed despite the enchantment. Fear had made her unusually bold and not even the spell could dissuade her from passing through - something the caster had failed to take into account. As soon as she was out of its effects, she began running again, her bare feet barely made any sound.

Solas followed silently behind.

He did not worry for her pursuers. So long as the wards were active, it was less likely anyone would follow them.

Ellana stuttered to a stop, eyeing the space around her warily. She glanced around her a couple of times, until finally fatigue won and she leaned onto the walls, visibly relieved. But her reprieve was short lived. She began to shiver. The hall had no brazier and the stonewalls seemed to emit nothing but cold. 

Solas wanted to come to her then, to offer a comforting hand. To simply be with her. But of course, she has no memory of him at this time. 

They had never even met.

Solas let out a soft exhale. Her survival and her future rested on his actions. He must not falter now.

_I will not fail you this time, vhenan._

Solas suddenly felt the Veil twist. _The Ritual… it is starting._

At the same time Ellana jolted, she unsheathed her lyrium-infused dagger and it began reacting to the disturbances in the Veil. She seemed to contemplate before following its pull, and with him discreetly shadowing her, they reached a massive wooden door.

Solas swallowed. He wrapped his magic tightly around himself, armed and ready. He watched her place her ear flat on the door's surface, trying to listen in. No doubt the Magister warded the chamber with a silencing spell. She wouldn’t be able to hear anything. With a boost of courage and a sharp inhale, she pushed open the door.

Green light burst through.

Ellana gasped. “What’s going on here?”

Right then, Solas warped the Veil and he blurred forward. 

It all happened so fast. 

He barely acknowledged the blighted Magister and his Grey Wardens, or even the Divine Justinia. All he saw was her, reaching down to almost grab his _orb_. 

Solas yanked her to him. The urgency of it almost tripped them both down, but he managed to spin her away from the Magister’s sight as the orb gravitated to the pull of his magic.

Like recognized like, and his awakened orb all too willingly flew to him. 

As soon as his fingers and its surface connected, bright verdant light engulfed his sight. The accumulated magic was too much for him to handle as he currently was and they were both knocked back and out by the sudden force. He felt the Anchor latched onto him and at the last minute only one thought reverberated through his mind:

_Keep her safe!_

***

When he awoke, they were both lying on a craggy surface. Solas had his body wrapped around hers protectively. He attempted to move, then he groaned. His muscles felt beaten and bruised. The sudden accumulation of power strumming through his veins made him feel unsteady, a feeling no different than being inebriated. He looked around him and found himself surrounded by a thick fog; he knew both by recognizing the landscape and by memory that this was Nightmare's realm.

His orb did not make it with him. He felt it slipping from his hand before his magic acted instinctively and opened a Rift. 

He somehow preempted this possibility. Still, it disappointed him nonetheless. He knew what would happen, he knew he couldn't activate the orb by his power alone. And yet, he didn't expect that he would be _too_ weak that the sudden surge of his _own_ magic would render him cold.

_It is most likely at the hands of Corypheus now._

Perhaps, he should have utilized some of his agents for its retrieval, but then again, he trusted no one to handle the awakened artifact. 

Not even himself.

He pushed the dark thought aside. What mattered was, he managed to succeed with his main goal.

Solas looked down. Ellana was tucked safely in his arms. He checked her hand. _No magic. No Mark._ He felt for her pulse. _Steady._

Solas pressed their foreheads together and breathed a laughter of relief. It had been a while since he had found himself the recipient of pleasant news and the outpouring of joy was beyond containable. Tenderly, he wiped a swat of dirt that clung stubbornly across her cheek. Something warm and giddy bloomed within his chest - as if his heart remembered how to beat - prompting him to place the gentlest of kisses along her temple. 

She was _well_ and she was with _him._

Her eyes scrunched and she gave a short rasp before waking up.

His immediate worry now lifted, he felt a smile spread on his lips, "Are you alright?"

She blinked, her eyes still glazed and unfocused. "...What…?" Then they sharpened. Abruptly, she sat up and he followed after her. Ellana swiveled from side to side, drinking in the dismal environment they found themselves in. "...Where? Oh, gods… W-Where am I?" 

"Be calm. You are safe."

"What's going on?" Her clear blue eyes were gazing at him imploringly. She looked ashen with fear. Her fingers were crinkling the sleeves of his tunic and she was leaning so close, he could see the woad imprint of Dirthamen's vallaslin peeking through the white paste she used to hide it.

Simultaneously, Solas felt the mingling concoction of anxiety and excitement. He clasped her hands, his spirit full of purpose and determination, eager to wash her terrors away.

"It's alright. I will find a way out of here," he said confidently, circling her knuckles with his thumb soothingly. 

Ellana recoiled at his touch, her eyes narrowed in suspicion, "Who are you?"

The question was not surprising and yet… Solas felt his heart lurched and was lacerated, slapped awake from a deep, sweet slumber. He retreated his hands from hers as if burned. His eyes began to sting and he blinked rapidly to ease the tear that threatened to fall. He parted his lips, but found he couldn't speak.

Her words twisted the knife further: "...Have we met?"

He couldn't tell her, but he couldn't lie either. Swallowing, he offered meekly: "I am… a friend."

She didn't look convinced, her gaze assessing him up and down. "...You don't look like you're from the Chantry…" she trailed off, but something else bothered her than being in an unknown place with a stranger. She quickly tried to stand, but faltered.

Solas was quick to catch her elbows, "Careful!"

She waved his concern off. "The Conclave!"

Solas summoned every focus he had and stood up slowly. Steeling himself, he bottled his emotions inside. "That is irrelevant at the moment." He stretched a hand for her to take. She hesitated before finally accepting it and he pulled her up to her feet. "We must find an exit."

_Or tear one myself._

Solas looked down on his hand. The magic fizzled at his palm. Another tear would prove too dangerous, the Veil around the temple area on the other side being unstable enough as it was. Misusing the Anchor could only worsen the state of the Veil and potentially imperil the world beyond and the Fade.

Ellana had her arms crossed, a furrow on her brows and a frown on her lips. "What do you mean 'irrelevant'?"

"Perhaps, I will answer your question at a better time?" 

A cheap offer, but one she begrudgingly took. He motioned for them to get a move on. She still looked doubtful, but finally acquiesced. They began walking. 

The little wisp he summoned wobbled above them. He felt his nerves prickled. _The Anchor is still settling._ Casting any spell felt afflictive. Solas shook his hand, partly irritated, partly to relieve himself from the discomfort.

The mist was thick and the floor was only visible within an arm's length. Dim orange light illuminated the place, revealing nothing. Whatever apprehension she may have had, she must have decided she was better off with him than alone in this uncertain situation. Solas felt like sighing.

"Sorry," she said for the third time after stepping on his heel. "It's kind of hard to walk around here."

"Here, hold my hand," offering the unmarked one.

She looked unsure, but decided to take it, "Sorry, mine's a bit clammy."

"I do not mind."

A beat passed.

"So, you're a mage, huh?"

"I am," his brows furrowed. "Does it concern you?"

"No, not really. It's kind of neat."

Solas hazard a glance and she shrugged.

"Where do you think we are?" But before Solas could formulate an answer that won't send her in another fit of panic, she asked another, "Are we still in the temple? It's very dark and foggy in here, isn't it? This isn't the dungeon is it? Wait, what were you doing in the temple?"

Solas refrained from giving her hand a mild squeeze. Oh, how he missed this, her endless barrage of questions. But for the moment, he only opted to answer the last one.

"Same as you."

Perhaps, that was the wrong thing to say, because she looked even more cautious. "Are you Dalish, too?" Catching her own words and remembering she was supposed to be undercover, she blabbered, "I-I mean, not that _I'm_ Dalish, you know, but -" she let out a strained and obviously fake laugh and pointed at her ears, "...it's not a far off guess, right?"

"Not at all," he chuckled. "And you have nothing to be concerned over. I will not pry nor disclose anything from this conversation."

She gave him a small smile, the first she directed to him. Despite himself, he felt his cheeks warmed. Then her eyes flicked to something behind him, "Hey, look!"

Solas turned and he saw a blazing light on top of the tall peak. _A tear._

"What's that?"

"Let us go," he pulled her hand and they both ran forward.

He felt a tug of uncertainty. "Are you sure?" Ellana asked, but neither was she slowing down.

"Absolutely."

Hand-in-hand, they sprinted towards the beacon with him leading the way. Then he heard her shriek. His heart dropped as he looked back to her. Ellana was white with terror. Trembling, she held onto his vest, pointing at something far back. "The waters are rising!"

Solas curled his arm protectively around her and watched the mist behind.

But it was not water that he saw.

Legions of shadow marched forward. Monsters wearing beloved faces. And at the center of the swarm was none other than her, the corrupted memory, a warped reflection.

The former Inquisitor.

_Vhenan._

Solas stood rooted on the spot.

She walked, skin as dark and illusory as smoke, but he could see her clearly, a twisted replica of the woman beside him. Dirthamen's scar bled like the green light of the Fade, like the green light of the Anchor and it twisted as she snarled:

**_We are not nightmares you can simply wake up from._ **

On his side, Ellana screamed, jolting him out of his reverie.

"Ellana!"

She buckled down as the demon's influence started to take hold, fighting her own nightmare. "I can't breathe! It… hurts…" she collapsed, gasping and thrashing. Solas caught her. Her eyes turned white, flapping her arms as if trying to swim upward. Tears trickled down across her face. 

"Hold on!"

"I can't… help me… help… help... I-I, please..." and she wheezed, "...forget…" Then she lost consciousness.

Solas carried her and desperately ran.

He tried to imbue himself with a spell and blur his way forward, but his magic felt raw inside of him that he found it too painful to cast even the simplest incantation.

_Fenedhis!_

The legion raced after them, shrieking taunting curses:

_**We suffered! We are real!** _

Solas clambered to reach the peak. Nightmare attempted to pry his thoughts, bartering the pain for its false comfort. It took all of Solas' willpower to ward his mind and keep his focus, preventing himself from succumbing to its influence. Ellana was breathing shallowly. He needed to leave this cursed realm immediately. Sweat dribbled across his forehead, both from the physical and magical strain.

**_Your efforts are futile. There is only death in this journey. It is inevitable._ **

"Grab my hand!"

He looked up and found the Divine Justinia extending her hand for him to take. Solas accepted it gratefully. But there was no time for ceremony. 

Solas barked, "We must hurry!" He signalled to the glowing tear several paces away from them. He didn't look back to see if she followed them.

The sound of steel piercing flesh made him turn.

A lance of light tore through the Divine. Solas was stunned. Behind her was the Inquisitor, a vile smile in her lips. Another shadow loomed at his side. A dark _'swoosh'_ and Solas managed to step back and evade the lethal slash. But he was not the target. A shallow cut from the gust of the spell bloodied Ellana's face. 

_No!_

**_I grow fat from your fears. Such a delicious feast!_ **

The Divine managed to gurgle, "...Go."

Solas swallowed. They were now surrounded by the ghosts of his past: people he had failed, people he had betrayed. People he had loved and sacrificed.

_Weak... I am too weak._

Masked with the Inquisitor's face, the demon chuckled mockingly, Nightmare's voice overlapping with theirs.

**_You will know dread before this is over, Pride. When the time comes, I will be waiting._ **

Terror beyond anything he felt clutched him and he was trembling. But the weight of his goal, the weight of his _heart,_ anchored him to the present.

There was nothing more he could do now, but escape. Securing Ellana in his arms, Solas jumped into the Rift. He stumbled once more as he passed through the tear and back to the immutable world.

He was welcomed by the panic-stricken face of Felassan. He ran to his aid. Solas almost dropped face first and his friend caught him by the shoulder. Before he could voice his concern, Solas interrupted him.

"...Keep her safe… Ensure she lives..."

"Survivors?" Solas heard Cullen's familiar voice somewhere in front of him, but he was too focused sensing the multiple Rifts that threatened to rupture around them.

Solas used the Anchor. He might not have enough focus to seal the first Rift, but he had enough to stall the smaller ones. Summoning his last remaining strength, he raised his marked hand and sealed them, draining everything he had and burning every single nerve in his body. The threads of the Veil tightened like a plucked string.

He heard Felassan yell, but pain made his words incoherent and nausea drowned the noise. He felt someone caught him before everything faded into black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dirthara ma - May you learn
> 
> This chapter coincides with Carrion's [Chapter 3 Ellana POV](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27992856/chapters/70026864#workskin) and [Chapter 4 Cullen POV](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27992856/chapters/70287294#workskin) for an insight on how the events in the Conclave and the aftermath of the Breach happened in this world-state's previous timeline!
> 
> Leave a comment or a kudos if you've enjoyed reading! I would greatly appreciate it.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	3. The Magician

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _And I heard a voice saying:_
> 
> _\--"Look, this is the Great Magician!_
> 
> _With his hands he unites heaven and earth, and the four elements that form the world are controlled by him."_

Ellana woke up in a dank cell. The stagnant odor of sweat, piss and moss permeated the space. _Ugh._ Feebly, she sat up. A few torches lit up the stoneworks, but none of them kept the place warm. She shivered. Her still tattered clothing barely kept her body heat. She grabbed the roughspun blanket they provided and gagged. 

_Good gods, the smell..._

She grimaced and her cheek suddenly stung. _Ow!_ She touched it and found a small droplet of blood on her fingertips. _What the…?_ But then a rat squeaked past her and she squealed.

Someone in the dark called out, "Ellana?"

 _That voice!_ She perked up. "... _Ba'lin?"_

Two very familiar cries chimed simultaneously.

"Ellana!"

"Ellie!"

 _"Ba'lin!_ Tae!" Ellana crawled towards the iron bars and peered into the darkness, trying to make out their shapes. She could also hear them move about, but presumed they could see just as clearly as she did - which was nothing. Still, she squinted beyond what the sparse torchlight could illuminate and spoke to the darkness. "What are you doing here?"

"What do you mean? We heard what happened at the temple. We saw the explosion. We came here to find you," Adahlon, the chief hunter for their clan as well as her uncle, said. He had come with her to Haven when Deshanna tasked her to spy on the Conclave.

Ellana was surprised, "Explosion? What explosion?"

"What? Did you hit your head? How could you miss that?" Tarel, her friend and the other hunter, blurted.

Ellana heard Adahlon hushed him, but he did have a point. How could she possibly miss something like that? She was in the temple, she remembered as much, but beyond that… there was something… a face, a memory, a feeling… a sorrow and anger so strong she felt fire deep at the pit of her stomach. Her head started to throb.

Something warm and acidic inflamed her inside and she suddenly dry heaved. 

"Ellana?" She could hear the worry in Adahlon's voice.

She wiped the dripping saliva on her mouth and chin. Her nausea still hadn't abetted yet. Ellana tried to brush it aside and ease him, "I-I'm fine... It just stinks here."

Adahlon hummed, unconvinced.

"A-Anyway, I guess, Tae was right. I did hit my head," Ellana croaked dryly. She tried to make light of it by chuckling. The throbbing did ease the less she thinks. 

Adahlon didn't find it funny though. Ellana heard a shuffle of movement before he spoke again, "We must find a way to get out of here."

She pressed her head on the cool iron, trying to control her breathing so she'd stop gagging. "...How long was I out?"

"Two days," Tarel said. "We scouted along the area and was found when we broke into the Chantry. Stone walls are stupidly confusing."

 _Two days. And a day I couldn't remember anything about._ Ellana ran a hand through her hair.

The sudden sound of heavy boots quieted them. Instinct jolted Ellana and she shuffled as far away from the bars as possible, clinging to the dank wall and deep shadow. The dungeon door opened loudly and a guard with a torch entered, followed by an elf. The light revealed his face and Ellana was surprised to learn he was Dalish. 

"Wait, here," the Dalish man demanded plaintively to the guard beside him. The human recoiled at being ordered around - no less by a 'knife ear.' Ellana flinched reflexively, but no reprimand came. The guard only muttered before obliging. To say she was shocked would be an understatement.

The Dalish looked around the dimly lit dungeon. He somehow knew where she was and walked towards her cell, crouching outside, he waved a hand. 

_"Aneth ara, da'len,"_ he greeted her familiarly. "You might not remember me, but I was the one who dragged you out of the temple."

_Dragged me out?_

Her heart thumped wildly in her chest, "W-What happened?"

He shrugged, "There was a 'boom.'"

_Not very helpful, that._

"Come closer," he said. "It feels like I have gone crazy, talking to my own shadow."

Ellana hesitated, but the man calmly waited her out, looking loose and welcoming. Finally, she stood up, slowly, and walked a little bit closer, enough that they could see each other more clearly, but still far off that she didn't feel exposed. The man stretched himself up to his full height. He snapped his fingers then blue fire bloomed above him.

"Maker!" the guard exclaimed.

The Dalish mage was unbothered by his discomfort. His focus was solely on her. This near, Ellana saw he was younger than how he carried himself to be. Young enough that calling her _da'len_ could be considered mildly insulting. He had striking purple eyes that were alert and focused, making his attempts at being jovial look sharp and cunning. The green lines of Mythal's vallaslin grew from his nose bridge up to his forehead, framing his sockets like a half-mask.

"Let us go, _lethallin,"_ Ellana heard Adahlon pleaded from somewhere behind him. "We had no part in what happened."

"Quite not true, considering one of you was found on the site," the guard gruffly interrupted. "You three will be released, once we are certain none of you killed the Divine."

Ellana trembled. _Gods, this is all my fault._

"We told you, we had nothing to do with this," Adahlon reiterated to the unhearing guardsman. 

"Oh, I know." The Dalish mage briefly looked back, before returning his attention to her. His hand glowed and he began magically unlocking the cell door.

The guard started to protest. "O-Oy, these are Inquisition prisoners!"

"And the Seeker gave her permission that I could release them if they've proved themselves as non-mages," he cheerfully replied. To Ellana, he opened the door like a valet and grinned, "There you go."

"You haven't done any proving," the guard said suspiciously.

"It's a mage thing, I doubt you would understand."

"How do we know you're not doing this just to free your kind?" the guard spat back. "There are a lot of ways to make explosives, these strange elves could have known things."

"Because, the explosion was magical in nature, _felasil -"_

"What?"

"- And the prisoners can't cast any spells." He raised a hand and wiggled his fingers for extra measure.

"Now, you listen, _elf._ The people of Haven -"

The Dalish mage finally turned to the guard and sweetly replied, "If you have any concerns, direct them to the Herald. I'm sure he would have some thoughts to share regarding his _kind."_

The guard blanched. Whistling, the mage sauntered and consequently freed Adahlon and Tarel as well. 

This was the first time Ellana saw Adahlon look this unkempt. His braids were all tangled now and his eyes looked bruised, like he hadn't slept for days. She ran to them and embraced him first then Tarel who looked just as worse.

 _"Ma serannas,"_ Adahlon directed to the mage.

"We look after our own," the mage nodded with a small smile. "You'll find your things at a chest outside." 

He led the way, staring down the guard, part warning him and part daring him to do something. At the end, the guard only looked furious, but he had no more protestations. Ellana's dagger was returned to her and so were the two hunters' bows. As they buckled their leathers and quivers, Ellana walked towards the mage and asked sheepishly:

"Might I know your name?"

He looked at her curiously before answering, "Felassan."

Ellana smiled warmly, "Thank you, Felassan. You've saved my life twice now. And now my family's too. I don't know how I could ever repay you."

"I would like to take credit for the heroism, _da'len,_ but I only follow orders."

"Oh, still..." Ellana fumbled. "...Who should I be thankful for then?"

Felassan's eyes glimmered. There was a small twitch on his lips, privy to a humor he only knew of. "Why, to our blessed hero, of course. The Herald of Andraste."

***

Seeing the three Dalish leaving was both a pain and a relief.

Solas found himself still staring at the southern drawbridge that led to the village’s exit point. It was an hour now since they had left and he found he could not tear his gaze away from where he had last seen her. 

He never even got the chance to say good-bye. 

_This is kinder in the long run._

Oh, but how his heart continued to bleed. The foolish part of him still hoped that he would see her again, coming back to be with him, that he may be able to hold her into his arms and for him to never let go this time. In the deepest recesses of his heart, the part he refused to listen or give voice to, sang in longing:

_Come back to me, vhenan, come back, come back…_

Solas pressed his fingers along his temples and chastised himself.

_You are doing this for her, not for you. She is alive and she will be safe. That is all that matters._

_For the time being,_ a sinister voice finished. His fear for the encroaching future was renewed. _Fenedhis._ Solas shook his head.

At the moment, he could take comfort with the fact that everything had gone along smoothly, fitting right to his expectations.

The Anchor's magic had settled well within him. The discomforts were almost gone and he could feel himself regain his old strength with each Rift that he sealed, further stabilizing the Veil and the Anchor. 

_There is only the orb now._

Solas knew, if he played his cards right, the magister himself would deliver it right into his palms. He eyed the snow-capped mountains and the copses of timber beyond the frozen lake. _Corypheus would attempt to take Haven. Crush the Inquisition before it becomes a threat._ Perhaps, it would be best if he could steer Leliana into scouting earlier for Skyhold. Currently, their numbers were too low and recruitment their priority. Solas kept his hands to his back and his posture straight. 

He already knew what he had to do. He had already drafted the plans, painstakingly deliberated the steps, decided what path to take, all that remained now was the execution.

Even still, and not for the first time since he awoke, he asked himself: _Is this the right course to take?_

Corypheus was a _known_ threat to Thedas. The magister had proven himself guileful, underestimating him was Solas' major mistake then. He had been arrogant and hasty with his plans. _Hot-blooded and cocky._

But he would not make the same mistake twice.

If he did not stray far from his past knowledge, he could ensure less lives are taken. By seemingly _reacting_ to the magister's moves, it would lead him on to the predetermined path. To follow the ebb of fate and wait for the right moment, he could prepare with accuracy, prevent more needless suffering and the assurance of his success would be nigh.

To trade one's death for the other's life was _fair._ That the exchange, no matter how brutal, was efficient. 

The logistics was sound. 

His eyes flit to the Breach, tracing it down to where the Temple of Sacred Ashes was. 

Once, he would assure himself such sacrifices were inevitable. Once, he could justify his actions as necessary, that the price, no matter how steep, must be paid. 

Causality. 

Sometimes, the end does justify the means. Awful as it might be, there would come a time it would be the only option left.

_And where did that rationality take me?_

Solas took a sharp intake.

 _The orb_ , he reminded himself. He must have the orb as quickly as he could. He must take the magister's source of power and render him impotent. 

_After that, what then?_

Solas clenched his jaws.

“Your Worship.”

Solas closed his eyes and exhaled. “I am in no mood for jests, Felassan.”

Felassan did not mind his sour reception and proceeded to climb the steps until he reached him. “The more things change, yes?” The Sentinel sat by the battlements, tracing Solas’ line of sight with his own, “I would have thought you would recruit them to our cause. Not fond of the Dalish, I take it?”

_She is safer the farther away she is from the Inquisition. And from me._

There was no need to reveal this particular truth to his friend. 'Truth,' he snorted to himself. The _truth_ of the matter was: 

He was terrified. 

Terrified that Felassan would know the extent of his mistake, the results of his failure, that even _now_ he was no closer to form any kind of solution. That he _dreaded_ the conclusion he was going to make - the conclusion that fate and circumstance have _forced_ upon him to make. And no matter how he desperately rattled the cage, he was still inside of it. 

This damnatory duty of his _dinan'shiral._

_It's best if the burden of the past remains with me and me alone._

He brushed his concerns aside and focused on the _present._ There was still time, he would make use of it. Instead, he offered Felassan a different kind of 'truth.'

_Because I am such a paragon of honesty._

“Political reasons,” Solas replied after a pause. "They do not blend well with human institutions. The Inquisition is still at its infancy. The less friction within, the smoother its growth.”

"Still, I'm surprised the Spymaster let them go just like that."

"I can be persuasive."

Felassan gave him a long, studious look. "When you _want_ something, you do get it done, I will give you that."

Solas narrowed his eyes, "Is there something you wish to say, Felassan?" he asked pointedly.

"Nothing," Felassan said, unconvincingly. "For all the trouble you went through just to have them freed, I thought you would have gotten more from the bargain."

"Are you saying altruism is beyond me?"

"No, not at all," Felassan laughed. "Don't look so offended."

"A taxing request, considering you are so eager to vex me."

His friend gave him an enigmatic smile and diverted, “So, you intend to lead this rabble.”

“I have the Mark.”

"I simply find it fascinating how you often find yourself in such situations. I'm still debating whether or not to call it 'good' luck."

_Because it isn't._

"The Herald of Andraste, who is the Bride of their Maker, the so-called creator of the Veil… quite the collection of titles..." Felassan trailed off, leadingly.

He eyed him sideways. Felassan was chewing… _something._ Solas waited for him to say more - a satiation to his curiosity, another mocking humor, a jab to the irony of his predicament. Instead, Felassan spat - whatever it was - out before skirting along with what he truly wanted to ask. Again. If Solas knew his friend, which he did, he was now devising a way to subtly get the information he wanted from him.

“Any trouble with the local populace?”

Solas raised a brow at his winding questions, letting the other know he was onto his attempts. “I care not for what they say.”

Felassan chuckled.

Solas sighed, of course that was not exactly true. Diplomacy was necessary, had he not said as much?

"Opinions are something we can address over time. Our actions will speak louder than any verbal appeasements. For the time being, gaining more influence for the Inquisition is paramount."

"Sounds serious. And stressful," Felassan stood up and patted the rubble off his back. “How about you join us in the tavern for now? Varric had been so gracious as to invite me for a few drinks and a card game.”

Solas finally turned his back to the drawbridge that would never again bear her footsteps. He crossed his arms on his chest. His look said: _Trying to loosen my tongue with cheap tricks?_

Felassan shrugged. _Well, I tried,_ he seemed to say.

Solas tugged on the leather coat the Inquisition had provided for him. Looking like a wandering apostate was no longer an option or necessary. “I shall prepare for our travels to the Hinterlands.”

"Still so grim." 

"One of us has to act responsibly."

Felassan laughed and clicked his tongue, "I am off the hook then." 

"The directives, Felassan," Solas frowned, reminding him of his obligation to relay new objectives to the other agents.

“After my fair share of ale. I’m certain the world won’t end for an hour or two. Besides, if it does,” Felassan bumped his fist cordially on Solas' shoulder and winked, “I’m sure you’ll be the first to tell me.”

Solas chuckled despite himself. He looked southwards one last time and sighed.

There was still more work to be done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ba'lin - uncle  
> Felasil - idiot
> 
> Special thanks to Dore for beta-ing


	4. The High Priestess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _..."This is the Hall of Wisdom. No one can reveal it, no one can hide it. Like a flower it must grow and bloom in thy soul. If thou wouldst plant the seed of this flower in thy soul--_ learn to discern the real from the false. Listen only to the Voice that is soundless... "

The further they traveled away from Haven, the more uneasy Ellana felt.

There was a bitter chill in the winds that wasn't there a few days ago. Winter was still several weeks coming and yet the air brought with it a prickling pain whenever she moved the muscles in her face, making the little wound along her cheek throb.

The three of them were morose the entire trek down.

She found there were still people coming up the mountain, scarce though in comparison when the Conclave began. Sentries she once saw when they first climbed were now gone, and folks ascending were vulnerable to thieves and wildlife that prowled the highland. The people huddled together both for warmth and protection, armed with nothing but sticks, hoes or hammers - depending on their profession. Ravens came and went, black birds against white-grey sky, omens of struggles to come.

It wasn’t right.

None of these past days were.

When they camped at the foot of the Frostbacks on the second night, sleep evaded her, absorbed by the green tempest that churned in the sky. It glowed menacingly against the deep black, swallowing peace and starlight. From time to time, she could see something flicker behind the emerald clouds. The longer she stared, the more it drew her in. A whirlpool of horror, a portal to the heart of dreams and nightmares. A thought slithered into her mind, a realization so natural she voiced them out without thinking.

“I think I’m volunteering.”

Adahlon stopped whetting his blade. He turned to her, alarmed. “What?”

She startled as if awoken. Ellana raised herself up, reclining by her elbow. “The Inquisition? I’m joining.”

Adahlon blinked, then went back to work. “No.”

The dismissal was like dry kindling to her inner fire. She scrambled into a sitting position, made more conscious by their disagreement. “That’s not for you to decide.”

“I am still your _hahren,_ I have every right to decide,” his _dar’misaan_ made a keening sound as he afflicted more force.

"You can't dissuade me, _ba'lin._ You taught us that we must do our duty to honor the clan. And that is what I will do."

 _“Da’len,”_ he said in that voice that brokered no argument. “The Dalish have no business with human affairs.”

But Ellana wasn’t cowered, “Then why did Deshanna send me here then? Wasn’t the Conclave a human affair?”

Adahlon looked at her pointedly, “I will not have this discussion with you. We are going home and that’s _that.”_

She crossed her arms and huffed, “I’m not going with you.”

“Ellana.”

"Felassan is Dalish, too and yet he is in the Inquisition!" Ellana leaned forward, hoping Adahlon would hear what she was trying to say. "The Herald is an elf, _ba'lin._ He saved me from the Conclave, he saved us in that dungeon. Does gratitude not move you to aid the cause? You saw the Breach. You can't tell me this does not affect us at all."

He shook his head as if to chase the thought away. “It doesn’t.”

_“Ba’lin!”_

_“Da’len,”_ he gritted his teeth in warning. “Enough.”

Ellana clenched her jaw, “I am no longer a child _._ Whether you want to accept that or not, it’s the truth. Surely, by now, I’ve earned my _vallaslin.”_

That seemed to deflate him a bit. “That is not-” Adahlon ran a hand through his braid, fingers looping and worrying its end.

“Then, please, _listen,”_ she pleaded. “I _know_ what I am doing.”

By this point, Tarel stirred in his sleep, awakened by their argument. He passed them both a questioning look.

Adahlon put his blade and whetstone aside and faced her fully. The campfire cast shadows on his face, deepening his age lines. Against the firelight, he looked old and weary.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

Ellana felt her throat constrict.

His eyes were on her, but they were glazed. “When magic decimated the human temple, I thought…” Adahlon swallowed and washed his face with his hand. “...We tried looking all over Haven for you, until we overheard the guardsmen talk about a tattooed elf as one of the survivors. They spoke of trials and reprisals...” He looked so pained that Ellana kneeled in front of him and clasped his hands. Adahlon watched their weaved fingers together, rubbing his thumbs along her knuckles. “I thought I lost you.”

“I’m here, _ba’lin._ You didn’t lose me.”

“No,” Adahlon gave her a small smile, “...Thank the gods.”

Ellana exhaled slowly and raised her chin up. She poured all her conviction as she stated: "That’s why I have to go back. The gods had favored me that day. Just as the Inquisition’s Herald is. We survived the Conclave when the rest perished. You can't tell me that meant _nothing."_

The look of conflict on his face made Ellana wince inside. She wasn’t as devoted to the Creators as Adahlon was and a part of her felt that she was using his faith against him. _I'm sorry, ba'lin._ But even so, she did _believe_ that somehow, some way, she must go back. Maybe it was destiny, maybe it was simply her intuition guiding her, maybe it could even be _guilt._ That out of all who had been to the conclave it was she who survived. And to turn her back to that… to tuck tail and run...

_My survival must have meant something._

Adahlon squeezed her hands. Softly, he said, "You shame me, _da'len."_

"You can't be serious, _hahren,"_ Tarel protested. "Humans _can’t_ be trusted.”

“At any other time, I would agree,” Adahlon said. “But Ellana is right. This is beyond elves and humans now.”

“What can, what - _four? -_ Dalish do anyway?"

“What needs to be done,” Adahlon replied.

An idea suddenly struck her. “Wait, _ba’lin._ Tae is right.”

Tarel narrowed his eyes while Adahlon looked at her confused.

 _“Dir’vhenan’shivanal,”_ Ellana beamed.

It was a vow of solidarity for a common cause; a Dalish clan can call upon another clan for aid, reserved only for the worst of circumstances.

_What better time than now?_

“If we could convince Keeper Deshanna to profess Clan Lavellan’s allegiance with the Inquisition, she may be able to sway other clans we could come in contact with. It would be a tremendous movement!”

Adalohn breathed in disbelief, “You know not what you ask.”

“I do. And this isn’t unprecedented. Look at Clan Fenelan! We’ve heard people speak of their heroisms in the fifth Blight. They were welcome in the human lands with praises and open trade! A Dalish Keeper in human court! _Ba’lin!_ Such hospitality has been unheard of. This could be our chance!”

Tarel snorted, “And how long would that last? You seem to forget that _shemlen_ make a sport of erasing elven contributions in their _short_ history. You think _shems_ have honor? When would they start dragging us into their walled cities and force us into servitude?”

Ellana clenched her fists. “Don’t recite them to me, Tae. You never lived in the human cities. _I did.”_

“You didn’t have your family killed by _shems.”_

“No,” she said icily. “Mine was only shunned by their own people.”

Tarel’s face crumpled and he looked away. He didn’t speak after that.

Digging at their past always left a bitter taste in her tongue. Ellana sighed and turned to Adahlon, she needed to push this aside and focus on the now.

“I… I am not expecting anything from this, _ba’lin._ But Deshanna tasked me to spy on the Conclave and deliver my report. This is it. Let’s put all our efforts in sealing the Breach. That’s my conclusion. Please, speak to her. It is up to the Keeper to do as her wisdom demands her to do. All I ask is… we give this a try.”

“You are asking us to return, while you stay here with the Inquisition.”

Ellana straightened her spine, “Yes. I am.”

She could see his jaw clenched, but when Adahlon looked up, she knew she had won him over.

“You’ve grown, _ashalan_.”

Ellana though needed the verbal confirmation, “Well…?”

“We will go with your plan. But for now, keep your head low. The humans are still unsettled by the events, you don’t want to catch their ire and attention.”

"The oak that doesn't learn how to bend, breaks," Ellana grinned, “See, _ba’lin?_ Some of your lessons did stick.”

“This wasn’t what I had in mind when I taught them,” he shook his head and chuckled in resignation.

“Tae?” Ellana asked softly. She didn’t want to separate ways with a heavy feeling between them.

“Do what you want,” Tarel grumbled. There was a miniscule twitch on his lips that let her know all was well between them. Slowly, it turned to a full grin, “You’re worse than a rashvine when an idea gets you.” But then he furrowed his brows, “But… what if the Keeper doesn’t agree, what then?”

Both hunters looked at her expectantly.

Ellana swallowed. “I-I guess, I’ll come back to the clan.”

_If they’d still have me._

Adahlon placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, “I will bear her answer myself.” _And take you home, if she declined,_ was what his gesture said.

Ellana squeezed his hand. His trust in her meant more than she could say. _“Ma serannas, ba’lin._ We will see each other again soon.”

***

The second time she left them for Haven, Ellana felt confident.

They separated in the morning, the two hunters headed towards Highever while she trailed after another batch of would-be Inquisition volunteers. She put her white powder on, hiding her vallaslin once more.

When she was welcomed into the group, Ellana started to mingle with them. Most came from the farmbelt along Redcliffe. Rumor was, mages and templars took their fighting in the flatlands and displaced their vassals, forcing them to find work someplace else. The arl had been silent throughout the ordeal, for no soldiers or knights were deployed to quell the trouble-rousers. It would seem only the Inquisition had responded. Carrying all they own on their back, the serfs scattered to the winds. Some then decided to swallow their fears and head on to Haven, where work, food and safety could potentially be offered.

Their travel was thankfully uneventful, but Haven was still far, and plenty of danger could potentially lurk beneath the shadows of evergreens. Ellana felt for the dagger at her thigh from time to time, walking gingerly at the rear, pulling her hood down even further and hugging her cloak tighter to herself.

The next day of their ascent they were met by an oncoming squadron. Inquisition soldiers riding on rounceys, trotting carefully along the dirt track. As they neared, she saw that the head of the bulk was led by a hooded elf in black. His pointed elven ears poked out from the carefully trimmed sides, seemingly unaffected by the cold.

Sitting atop his chestnut Fereldan courser, he gently patted the mount’s neck and the beast obliged, slowing down to a stop near Ellana’s group. He raised a clenched fist and the riders behind him halted. Snow and dirt seemed not to touch him, for there were no white specks on his shoulder nor mud beneath the soles of his boots. He flicked a finger and a rider came beside him.

“Herald?” The warrior woman spoke. Her voice was heavy with an accent, in-between Nevarran, or possibly Antivan. On her breastplate was the emblem of the Seekers of Truth.

 _So, he really is the Herald._ Ellana never got the chance to see him when they were still in Haven. Even so far back from the rest, she could see the glimmer of his wintry eyes beneath the shadows cast by his dark hood. His face was long and severe, carved in sharp planes and angles. His gaze was as cool as whetted steel as he assessed their careworn entourage.

“I have not sighted a single sentry outpost during our ride,” the elven man mused. His voice was surprisingly gentle, so soft that people strain to hear what he has to say. Which ironically made everyone listen to him even more, as was evident on how they seemed to lean forward as he spoke.

“I think we can spare some people at the back," a dwarf with an impressive chest hair piped in, saddled behind another soldier. Ellana felt cold just looking at his unsuitable choice of attire.

The Herald nodded to the Seeker, “Kindly make it so.”

The Seeker motioned and three other riders were given an order to escort their group.

One of the human farmers came forward, “...Your Worship, ser. If I may?” He gave a light bow towards the Herald and the Seeker respectively. The Herald motioned for the man to move closer. The farmer obeyed then swallowed. “Our lands were ravaged by outlaws in the night, burned our huts to the ground. Me and my fellows found no justice from the king. Rumors of his arl fleeing Redcliffe is… bitter in our hearts. I know we ask much, but if you can find some way we could return to our fields, you will have our loyalty and gratitude. We would gladly work with you and yours.”

The Herald nodded solemnly, “We will do what we can to restore order.”

“Thank you, your Worship. That is all I ask.”

The Seeker chimed in, “For now, find refuge in Haven. Our provisions are humble, but you and your family will not starve this coming winter.”

“Thank you, ser. We will earn our keep,” the farmer said, before returning to the group. There was a general consensus of relief.

The Herald watched the procession, his posture prim and perfect. An elven noble. The idea made her smile. Satisfied, the Herald signalled to his team, and with a refined tap of his heel his horse trotted forward and down towards the Hinterlands. The rest of the troops followed behind him.

And it was odd. Odd to see everyone pay their respect to an elf.

Of course, she had heard of elven heroes throughout the years, Da had filled her head with them and the clan _hahren_ had often shared whatever they could recount of the Dalish tales: the great Grey Warden Garahel who united Thedas and slain the archdemon during the fourth Blight; the Night Elves who fought for Ferelden during King Maric's rebellion; Lindiranae, the last of the Dalish Emerald Knight who wielded Evanura in battle; of course, the slave hero Shartan, who was all but erased in the Chant.

And briefly she wondered if that was his fate as well, to be forgotten by history once this was all over with.

There were murmurs amongst them, but Ellana was oblivious to what they had said.

The sight of an elf leading a human party gave her a sense of pride, a feeling never in a hundred years she thought she’d ever feel, but here she was.

At that very moment, she knew she made the right decision.

Perhaps, one day, there would be songs about him. Ellana knew she would be singing them, so none shall forget that an elf had led the vanguard for Thedas’ salvation once more.

***

Haven was quieter now that almost everyone had fled at the onset of the Breach. The grounds outside its gate were a bed of white since there were no longer tents and pavilions scattered about. Some of the people she knew had stayed, like: Harritt the smith, Flissa, Threnn and the elven runner, Fanny. Beth, her friend and the tavern cook, was there too, boiling snow to make water since the lake turned into a solid block of ice.

Ellana steered clear from them.

She didn’t know how much they knew of her involvement with the Conclave - a fact she didn’t know much of either. Pieces of her memories were missing and the more she tried to recall, the painful the throbbing in her head became. Not to mention, she did _lie_ to win their confidence, manufactured a life to gain their pity and their trust. Right now, she couldn't find it in her to face them. Ellana secured her cloak tighter and disappeared within the crowd.

Ellana scouted Haven for the Dalish mage, Felassan. If anyone could relate to her predicament, it would be him. She was certain he had not been with the outriders her group had encountered earlier. In a party consisting of mostly humans, usually elves stick out like a sore thumb.

At the foot of the knoll along the southern walls, Ellana found him.

Felassan was humming as he drew doodles in the air in front of a rubble. Workers stopped and stared as he waved his stick, oblivious to the steady stream of onlookers his antics seem to have ensorcelled. There were snickering behind her and Ellana looked back and saw several children were giggling at him.

Well… he did look quite mad.

He was wearing worn travelling clothes, standing barefoot on the snow - enchanted footwrap or not - and doing gods know what. She felt almost embarrassed for him.

 _"Aneth ara,"_ Ellana moved closer, echoing his greetings to her before. Felassan didn’t seem to have heard her. _"Lethallin?”_ she waited for a response that never came, “ _..._ Felassan?"

Nothing.

Ellana straightened and cleared her throat. She inhaled and opened her mouth to try again, but before the air in her lungs could form words, Felassan's hand waved her off and said, "I heard you the first time."

She blinked, "Oh. Sorry. I, uh, thought…"

"I'm currently busy."

The blunt dismissal flustered her. "Well, yes, I can, uh, see that," she said, gesturing at him as he continued conducting in front of a broken stone wall. When he didn’t say anything more, she pushed on. "So, I, umm, I wanted to volunteer. For the Inquisition?"

The wind seemed to sway in the same direction as his hand, as silent as he was. He looked untouched by the cold. His black hair was like obsidian, not a speckle of snowflake in sight. The same went with his clothes. This near, she could see that what made him odd than the rest was his _serenity._ Time seemed inconsequential to him, while everyone else seemed to throw themselves into a frenzy.

"I, uh, thought you may need some... help?" She gently pushed.

Felassan eyed her in his periphery. A barely-there-glance. Ellana tried her best smile, but he said in a clipping tone. "Threnn's at the courtyard."

She was crestfallen. Ellana shifted her weight from one foot to the other. All her earlier confidence burst like bubbles. _Well, this isn’t what I am hoping for._ She hovered a bit around him, unsure of what she should do next. She was alone now in Haven like never before, with Adahlon and Tarel gaining distance by the hour. She worried on her lip, watching the apathetic mage ignore her as he continued on with his ministrations.

Then she noticed something. There was a rhythm to the stroke of his wrist. Like writing. Curious, she remained rooted, watching each of his flourish and trying to decipher the symbols written in air. "Is that dwarven rune inscriptions?"

That caught his attention. He didn’t stop, but he turned slightly to her. "No, it is _elvhen."_

Ellana furrowed her brows. His elvish accent was different from Deshanna or Mahanon’s. "I don't remember any mention of elven runes in our history."

"Perhaps, we are remembering two very _differing_ histories," Felassan snorted, his attention still focused on his aerial scribbling.

Which was even more befuddling. If he was attempting to inscribe enchantments on the - _well, let's be honest_ \- rubble, the mage was obviously missing a key ingredient. "...Don't you need lyrium for that?"

"No, I really don't."

Ellana waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't.

All the distress and disappointments of the past days had boiled into one molten cauldron and his coy indifference was oil to her flame. Her temper flared and she snapped. _"Vir dirtha’eolas."_

Felassan stopped what he was doing and it was as if the breeze took a pause as well.

But Ellana was too high-strung to pay it any mind. She won’t be an embarrassment after her rousing speech to Adahlon and Tarel about elven _solidarity_. If Felassan thought he was the first stubborn Dalish she encountered, well, he thought _wrong._

"I am invoking my rights to knowledge in return of service. As a Dalish, you are beholden to answer to this conduct as well."

Felassan was deathly quiet and everything went still. He assessed her sharply, his eyes roving up and down.

And there went all her plans and hopes. _Oh, well. So much for Dalish fellowship._ Her fists clenched. Ellana felt equally enraged and deflated. _I suppose, plan B should be in order_.

To her surprise Felassan guffawed. _What?_ He laughed long and loud that some of the men working on building the trebuchet were startled.

He wiped a tear in his eye and chirped, "You have spirit. I _like_ that."

“...Oh,” came her confused reply, “Well...-”

“Also, it’s _vir dirtha_ la’ _eolas.”_

“Oh, okay… I-”

“Repeat it.” Ellana blinked. Felassan encouraged again, “Go on, repeat it.”

_“Vir dirthala’eolas?”_

“No, no, don’t rush it. Pronounce each syllable clearly. Repeat after me: _vir.”_

Ellana blinked again. His entire ambiance changed and it made her off-kilter. Felassan gave her a look that declared he was not letting this one go. _Oh, gods, he’s serious about this._ Ellana decided to play along.

She cleared her throat, _“Vir?”_

_“Dirth-a-la.”_

_“Dirth-a-la?”_

He nodded and finished, _“Eo-las.”_

_“Eo-las.”_

“Go on, then, say them all together now.”

 _“Vir dirthala’eolas,”_ Ellana articulated carefully.

He said something in elvish, at her confused look, he clarified, “Oh, I said it was perfect. Well done, _da’len.”_

“Thanks... I guess?”

 _“Sathem,”_ he smiled, all charm and amity. “Oh, that one means-”

“You’re welcome,” Ellana finished.

Felassan tucked his stick - _wand? -_ into the pockets of his cloak and announced without a care, “I think I’m hungry. Are you?”

The man was so all-over the place, Ellana felt winded around him. She gestured at the rubble he’d been so focused on just moments ago. “Oh, what about your work?”

“I’m done for the day,” he said dismissively, swatting some lint off his shoulder and began to walk towards the town proper. When Ellana didn’t follow him, he turned to her, “Aren’t you coming?”

“Am I working for the Inquisition now?” she clarified.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged.

_Is he a crazy person?_

“I mean, _technically,_ you invoked your rights, as you should, so I am your _hahren_ now and since I am working for the Inquisition it follows that you do as well. But you’re not _technically_ part of their roster.”

“Well, that is… kinda convoluted.”

“I suppose so,” he said cheerily. “Oh, don’t worry, you’ll get paid for any work not at all relevant to your undertaking of knowledge.”

She walked double-stride to match his pace, “So, what is it exactly that you do here, Felassan?”

“That’s _hahren_ for you, _da’len._ But to answer your question, I am the resident ‘Fade Expert.’” Then he chortled.

_Was that supposed to be funny?_

“So, what exactly would my tasks be?”

“Ah. We shall see in the coming days, won’t we?”

Ellana noticed they were heading out of the gates of the village and pointed it out, “The tavern is behind us, you know.”

“Unlike the lovely patrons of Singing Maiden, I am not fond of grey stew.” Then he stopped abruptly and spun to face her. “You do know how to cook, don’t you?”

“Uh, yes?”

“How about hunting?”

“No.”

“Well, what say we divide the labor? I do the chasing while you prepare us a decent meal?”

“Yes, sure.”

“Fantastic. Now you have a task.”

Ellana chuckled weakly. She felt like she made a deal with a proverbial demon, so stilted she was of the turn of events. Not that Felassan was anything remotely malicious like a _demon._

_I think._

But she had done what she was set out to do. The first piece had been laid down and secured. If Adahlon managed to convince Deshanna, after the Breach was sealed and the Inquisition gained recognition and adoration for their heroism, Clan Lavellan would be a part of it. And hopefully, it would usher a new era for their clan and for the rest of the elves, Dalish and city-born alike.

Ellana had high hopes that the worst of times would bring the best out of them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ashalan - daughter
> 
> Special thanks for Dore_N for beta-reading!


	5. The Emperor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _...And while the Emperor spoke, his helmet shone brighter and brighter, and his golden armour gleamed beneath his mantle._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of an early chapter update! I really want to hurry up the rest and have a special moment for my bbs this valentines! Hope you guys enjoy, and thank you again so much for reading!

Apparently, when one was a Fade Expert, one slept. 

All day.

Everyday.

Ellana had been sitting in the same spot for hours now, waiting for Felassan to wake up, amusing herself by counting each of his snores - which, in all fairness, he never did. Not even once. The mage laid with his back on the hay mattress, unmoving. The rise and fall of his chest was barely discernible. 

She didn’t have much to do, to be honest. She couldn’t exactly just waltz around Haven, considering she was hiding from most people. Guilty conscience kind of does that. She had too much energy and nothing to busy herself with.

She was bored.

_How in the Void can someone sleep all day?_

Which really was a surprise. The first time she spent the night in Haven after the Breach, she couldn’t sleep a wink. Even at midnight, the skies were alight, giving the impression it was dawn. There were random rumbles too, and for a moment Ellana feared demons would start raining down once more. She had never seen a demon before and she was most certain she never wanted to. But luckily, it never did. Felassan assured her as much. The Breach was mostly aesthetic at this point - his words, not hers. She supposed he would know about it, considering he was the expert.

Speaking, he started to stir.

"Oh, you're awake. I was about to sing a requiem," she drawled.

Felassan blinked, then turned to her, eyes still fogged by sleep. "The map."

Ellana got one without question. She was used to him waking up and voicing odd requests. She sprawled the worn parchment on his bedside table just as Felassan swung his legs out and pulled the wooden furniture nearer. 

"What are you looking for?"

"Southron Hills."

"That would be here, I think," Ellana pointed at the little triangular illustrations that denoted the hilly region that skirted along the south western side of the Brecilian Forest. “It’s a large area, divided by two arlings. Do you have anything more specific than that?”

“I’m looking for a Chantry military outpost, actually.”

“Well, there should be one at each central seat of the Arling in the cities of South Reach and Stenhold. I think the Chantry kept records for that, perhaps we could ask?” Ellana said as she watched him stand up.

He rummaged through a book tower he had collected on the floor and exclaimed, _aha!_ He patted an old thick book with a sunburst insignia. He hefted it up to their table and it made a dull thud.

She ran her hands on the leather cover and opened it. The pages were old and yellow. She read the first few lines. “This is a record of personnels that came and went from Haven’s Chantry. Transferries and correspondence,” Ellana paused. “Wait, why do you have this?”

“Can you give me a list of outposts in that region based on this?”

“Sure, but it’ll take me a while. This seems like a chronological account and not classified by address. Also, you didn’t answer my question.”

“Hmm? I didn’t?”

“No? Why would the brothers even lend you this… wait, did you _steal_ this?” Ellana hissed.

He touched his chest in a gesture of offense. “Now, that sounds criminal. Personally, I prefer the term ‘secretly liberated without their permission.’”

“Felassan!”

He waved his hand to dismiss her. “Oh, they can have it back once you’re done with it. Don’t give me that look, _da’len._ You were caught spying yourself.”

“For my clan, _then,”_ Ellana said defensively. “We’re working with the Inquisition now.”

Felassan laughed. He did that a lot, mostly at inappropriate times, she noticed. 

“Suspicious mind you have there, _da’len._ But tell me, how do you think the Chantry brothers would take it when an apostate asks for such records?”

_Touché._

"Why are you looking for outposts anyway?"

"Don't worry. It helps us all," he replied easily.

 _Keep your secrets, then._ Ellana gave a loud exhale. “Fine, give me a moment, I’ll give you a list.”

Said moment became _days_ of huddling and cross-referencing _._ At this point, Ellana never bothered to learn where Felassan had collected the sources from or his reasons for his actions. Not like he ever shared them.

One night, Felassan just trudged back inside his place after his daily ritual of inscribing the village palisades and stoneworks. He could now be found performing along the northern walls near the Herald’s cabin. One could hear the children giggling. Sometimes she thought he gave more flourish when they watched. They seemed to never get tired of it.

I guess anything to get your mind off the end of the world.

“Here, I think this is all that was mentioned,” she waved the parchment at him in greeting. “I’ve categorized them by size and influence. Besides the key cities, there are also templar barracks in castles Langhope, Vinglen and Sothmere.” As he neared, she pointed to the key cities in the Arling on the map. “There’s also an abandoned Seeker outpost near the Brecilian called Therinfal Redoubt. I also have here some of the minor stations in the villages and independent Chantry cells.”

Felassan looked thoughtful, "Are you certain?"

"As certain as a nug in the Deep Roads."

Felassan looked at her. 

"What? It's an actual saying."

"That doesn't inspire confidence," and yet he marked the locations with a spell. The green lines only appeared when he casted blue flames.

“That’s really neat.”

Felassan played with a necklace with a crystal pendant. The gem glimmered almost imperceptibly, an iridescent glow not unlike lyrium. He closed his eyes and his body waved as if on a trance. Ellana watched in wonder. Then as quickly as it started, he blinked and let go of the gem. Its colors were dull and muted now.

She looked around, wondering if he casted something. "What was that?"

Felassan only smiled enigmatically. "What's for dinner?"

***

Madame de Fer – also known as Vivienne, Court Enchanter to the Empress Celene, leader of the last loyalist mages, et cetera, et cetera – welcomed the Inquisition to Orlais. 

More importantly, she had formally introduced them to the Grand Game. 

She had her messenger sent, awaiting Solas at the capital’s summer bazaar. He was welcomed to her soiree by a foul noble who challenged him to a duel. An opportunity that gave the enchanter a display of her own power, literally and figuratively. 

Solas had taken the entire commotion calmly, a fact that Vivienne had greatly approved of.

 _How interesting._ What once was thought of as arrogance was now referred to as composure. The strappings of authority do work wonders. In their first meeting a lifetime ago, he was not worth a speck on her silverite encrusted boots.

Half of him wondered if she invited that particular ruffian to stage her entrance. In his long life in court, he had seen far more contentious ruses to gain attention. Some of them even flopped. The failures were often earned, but it was still a sore to witness. 

Vivienne was useful though. He could suffer her. 

Solas leant on the balcony in his quarters, overlooking the gardens. Moonlight glinted off polished marbles and gilded stucco that decorated the estate. He swirled the wine in his glass, courtesy of his hostess. 

In this display of decadence, he longed for quiet Haven. 

Solas wished to return swiftly, tired as he was after his undertaking in Val Royeaux - which went about as smoothly as it did.

Trouble grew the moment they reached the gates.

Solas gritted his teeth, remembering the trials Ellana had endured under the machinations of the very people whom she had devoted herself to save. In the entire ordeal, he was predictably curt and irritable.

The meeting with the Chantry representatives was arranged as it was before. Well, ‘arrange’ was not quite the word exactly, granted they showed up like unwanted guests by their doorstep, clamoring for their attention as they stumbled amongst themselves to appear presentable. 

This time, Solas dissuaded Cassandra from accompanying him, encouraging her to follow through in recruiting the Bull's Chargers in the Storm Coast. Instead, he opted to be attended by templar loyalists who chose to serve the Inquisition, wearing their full regalia combined with Inquisition heraldry. Leliana’s agent Charter was with them as well, she stood as the head of their look out, and had melded in the streets.

“Talk about sending a statement,” was what Varric commented then, never leaving his side and acting like a tourist. 

The whole thing went down rather quickly, as expected - a scream of heresy here and a howling of accusation there. The templars had arrived shortly, led by the Envy Demon parading as the Lord Seeker Lucius, unbeknownst to all that attended. Solas let the theatricalities play on. 

Felassan would send one of their nearest agents to investigate Therinfal Redoubt by now and acquire irrefutable evidence so that the advisers would pursue immediate action. The clues he had left were subtle enough, but his friend had a sharp mind. If the timing was fortuitous, Solas might be able to gain both the templars and the mages before they could begin closing the Breach. It would cripple Corypheus’s campaign thoroughly.

The pieces were in position.

Solas mulled the Grand Enchanter’s proposition. If he recalled from the time before, there was a Fereldan noble who had allied himself with the Venatori, a man named Arl Wulff of West Hills. An act of misguided nobility, thinking that Ferelden would be better off without the rebel mages squatting in the castle of one of the powerful Arlings. Who better to take them than Tevinter? But the question remained: with a threat of templar purges and the unified hatred of the mob, how could a handful of Venatori mages manage to tyrannize several Circle’s worth of competent enchanters? Dorian had not spoken much about what had happened then, personal the tragedy was to him.

_Something’s definitely amiss._

He was going to go into Redcliffe blind, but Solas had already decided to pursue Fiona’s allegiance. 

There were still other matters at hand.

In the Fade, Haven was just as it was in waking. Dreaming people populated the area, going about what was seemingly their usual afternoon, no doubt imagining a rather different scenario or vista in their mind’s eye.

Solas went about until he found what he was looking for. Softly, he opened the tent flap and found Leliana kneeling on the cold ground, head bowed to a prayer. 

As soon as he entered, he felt his body morphed to a different person, allowing himself to be shaped by the dreamer's expectation.

Large hairy tanned hands replaced his pale bony ones. Solas felt for his face and found he had now a beard and long hair wrapped into a simple ponytail. His elvhen ears became rounded and human-like. He looked down and found himself wearing a standard Grey Warden Scout armor.

“Is this the Maker’s will? Is more blood what He wants? What’s His game?” Leliana looked up, cold anger in her eyes. From the supposed privacy of her mind, her expressions were open. “Justinia gave everything she had and He let her die. If the Maker doesn’t intervene to save the best of His servants, what good is He?” Her gaze turned to the Chantry, her fists clenched.

“Perhaps, intervention does not rely solely on him,” he said in a voice of deeper timbre.

Leliana snapped to him, her eyes blazing with curiosity and desperation. Her faith was severely damaged by the death of the Divine. A death he saw coming and did nothing, caused by an event he partly orchestrated.

Leliana had been relentless in her pursuit when the truth of who he was became common knowledge. He knew she reserved a poisoned arrow just for him. Perhaps, in this lifetime, it would finally find its mark.

But that was not today.

“Scout further to the north and you may find something there.”

The Nightingale narrowed her eyes, sharp even under the fog of dreams. “What is it?”

“That is not for me to tell, but for you to discover. It may be nothing, or –” Solas softened his gaze. “– It could be something as simple as a rose bush blooming on blighted lands.”

For a moment, Leliana was frozen. Solas wondered if he had pushed it too far, steered too fast, but as quickly as his doubt filled his mind, her countenance changed. She gave him the warmest of smiles.

“That would be something to see, no?" 

Satisfied, he left Leliana to her dreams, warding her spot on the Fade to avoid demons preying on her troubled mind. 

_Hypocritical, considering you are the proverbial wolf in sheep’s clothing._

The skies darkened and he felt cold all over. The ghosts of Haven stopped and stared. Accusing eyes burned and bore through him. The edges of their form started to blur and twist into something more maligned. Solas banished the insidious voice and anchored his mind to his work. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. When he opened them once more, the afternoon light returned, but the village was now deserted except by one other than him.

He sighed in relief.

“Have you completed your tasks?”

Felassan became clearer the closer he got. “I have. Iselan is now investigating templar activities in the arlings near the Southron Hills. The defensive runes around Haven have already been set into place. It only requires you to activate them.”

“Good work.”

Felassan still hovered around. Solas waited for him to raise his concern. And he did.

“How’s Val Royeaux?”

“Fine.”

“You know, I could have asked Briala for aid,” Felassan said carefully. He had been trying to warm him to the idea of working with her.

“Perhaps, in time, I will take you up on that offer.”

Felassan’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. He was still worried about what he thought of his protegee. It was obvious he cared for her. 

Cared for her enough to betray him.

Something heavy lodged itself in his ribs. 

“If that is all, Felassan. I need to rest now.”

“Of course,” there was a flash of concern in his eyes before he dipped his head in respect. His figure faded as Solas dismissed him in his dream.

With his work for the day done, predictably his mind flitted to the thought of _her._

His Anchor had grown in power. If he wanted to, he could pay her a visit _._ For a miniscule moment, he was _tempted._ But what good would that do? She was most likely back with her clan now. 

Suddenly, the image of her happier and well without him tore a hole in his heart. 

It was a selfish thought, a selfish _hurt,_ and it angered him. 

Angry at fate, at _something,_ at _everything._

But mostly his anger was directed at himself. 

It was probably just exhaustion talking. Solas cradled his face in his palms and sighed.

Damn it.

_I miss her._

***

Morning came too fast and Solas was dead on his feet.

At the very least, one of the benefits of having a noble’s support was his own private carriage. Besides the comfort, it did provide his mount reprieve from the strain of saddling him for the long trip towards the port. Solas relaxed on the cushioned seat. Finally, he could catch a few hours of restful sleep. 

Something popped up under him and he startled. He saw a bob of blonde hair and a flash of red. He sighed.

It was Sera. 

Of course.

“How long have you been hiding down there?”

_More like, how long had she been following them._

“Why? Afraid I’m gonna see something, innit?” 

She saw a bowl of fruit Vivienne had left for him. She took a grape and popped several, chewed, then spit the seeds out the window like a repeating crossbow. She sat at the opposite side of him, admiring a plush strawberry before devouring it.

“I thought you already left for Haven.”

“Did you think, _whot?_ That I’m just gonna walk from Orlais down to Ferelden?" She giggled maniacally, "You daft?”

Solas felt the onset of a headache.

He watched helplessly as she threw an apple core at one of Ghislain’s unsuspecting guardsman. It bounced comically on his steel helm. Solas heard the man curse and Sera doubled-down in laughter, unable to get to her in fear of offending an honored guest. 

Any hopes for respite vanished like smoke.

_Fenedhis lasa._

***

Today was marked by the Herald’s return. 

It was barely a day after the Seeker came back, bringing with her a mercenary group led by the largest guy - Qunari or not - Ellana had ever seen. If muscle was a person, they would be Iron Bull.

No, sorry.

 _The_ Iron Bull.

She hadn’t seen much of him though, or his group, sequestered they were near Haritt’s outside the town walls.

She was accompanying Felassan while he haggled another Royal Elfroot from Stingy Seggrit when she caught sight of Beth. Ellana’s heart began to race. She tried to make herself smaller, hoping the older woman would not notice her. She felt a light sting along her shoulder blade.

"Don't slouch," Felassan reprimanded, tapping his stick on his palm. He had already acquired several leaves of the dried herb.

“Are we done?” Ellana pleaded, her eyes darting around

“Who are you hiding from anyway?”

Right then, Beth and Ellana locked eyes. The woman gasped in surprise, but after that, her face turned stony and she abruptly made her way back to the tavern. Felassan watched the rather brief exchange.

“Well, someone seems angry with you.”

Ellana mumbled.

“Words are meant to be spoken, not eaten.”

Ellana sighed, “I lied to her, alright.”

“So? Everyone lies,” Felassan shrugged dismissively. 

That ticked her off. “She took me in when no one else did! Of course I’d feel terrible about it,” she kicked the snow with her feet. “It wasn’t my intent to hurt her like that.”

“Apologize, then.”

She snorted. “Right, why haven’t I thought of that?”

“If it agonizes you this much, might as well be done with it,” Felassan replied. “A swift kill or a slow one. Your choice.”

“Wow, that’s heartening.”

“It's a succinct metaphor. Again, your choice,” he repeated, shrugging as he left her and headed back to his cabin.

Ellana watched his retreating form and her eyes flit to the tavern. _He’s right though, isn't he?_ But she was not doing this to ease her own discomfort, no. Beth deserved her apology. It was really as simple as that. Ellana exhaled and headed on to the Singing Maiden. 

Inside, Maryden was at her usual, tuning her lute. The only patron was a dwarf who was engrossed in writing, tucked away in a corner with a window. Flissa was wiping the bars while Beth was cleaning the nearby tables. Ellana walked slowly. Softly, she announced her presence by saying, “Beth?”

The older woman froze.

_Here goes nothing._

“Listen, I… I’m sorry. For lying to you and… Look, I understand if you’d never forgive me, but, I was just here to know if… if the Conclave would make it harder for us, you know? It wasn’t my intent to cheat you all like that. But I guess, I did and I am so sorry about that.” 

Beth straightened. Ellana had a half-mind to just scrunch her eyes and weather what was to come. 

“Look, Ellie. I’ve been at the receiving end of nastiness meself, y’know. I’m not the sharpest tool ‘round here, but I know how others treat ya’ll,'' she motioned at her ears, round unlike Ellana’s. “Ye came back, when ‘honorable’ knights fled. That’s louder than any apology ye have to say.”

Ellana’s eyes moistened, and Beth too looked like she was about to cry.

“And I felt bad too, y’know? Threnn told me ye went up there and the entire place just… just... Maker. I’m just glad you’re alive.”

“Oh, gods. That wasn’t your fault.”

“I can’t help it,” she was fanning her eyes. “We lost too many good people up there. And I made ye take that job. If I didn't ye wouldn't have set foot in there...and I-I...”

Ellana placed a comforting hand on hers. “I am _never_ blaming you for that.”

Beth suddenly bursted into tears.

The two of them hugged for their recovered friendship. There was a fair bit of crying, mourning the people they knew and lost at the temple, but mostly they were overjoyed to be reunited with each other again. 

Ellana skipped as she returned to Felassan’s cabin once more, carrying a basketful of ingredients Beth had sent her way.

“I take it everything went well?”

“Yes,” she chirped. “Thank you for pushing me to make the right choice.”

Felassan waved her off, “Your decision, remember?”

Taken in by the joy of the moment, she confessed: "You know, I only had the guts to join the Inquisition because of you.”

Felassan looked genuinely startled at that. It was the first she ever saw him appear this unsteady.

She blurted forward, before her courage left her. "...You are a Dalish, too, like me and yet, despite most people distrusting us, you still offered to help. I think that is amazing and courageous. And I really admire you for that. I thought, well, I wanted to do the same."

Felassan's eyes went wide. He cleared his throat, seemingly embarrassed. _"Ma serannas, da'len._ I am flattered by the inspiration, but I feel it's rather… romanticized."

Ellana cocked her head to the side, waiting for him to expand further. But in Felassan's usual fashion, he said no more.

Easing his discomfort, she changed the subject. “What do you think of ram stew? I have fresh carrots here, some potatoes and even spices.”

He looked relieved. He smiled and said, “No complaints here.”

She turned to a partition where the small kitchen was situated and began preparing. She was in the middle of stoking the fires and chopping up the vegetables when a knock came on the door. She heard the scrapping of the wooden chair on the floorboards as Felassan got up to answer it.

"Felassan," a familiar voice greeted.

Ellana checked to see who it was through the hole in the wooden partition and she was surprised to see the Herald himself come inside the cabin. It was hard to get a hold of the man, leaving for weeks on end and only returning for a day or two only to venture off once more. When he entered, there was not a trail of snow on his cloak nor his footprints on the floor. He took his hood down, revealing himself in full.

He looked… unassuming, actually. Simple even.

His head was clean-shaven. It made the angles of his face sharper, his appearance austere. But there was _something_ about him that was hard to place. It was as if your impression changed the longer you looked. He seemed larger than life. Not only was he tall, still not that much at least in comparison to Felassan beside him, and yet his presence seemed to _fill_ the entire cabin. Gravitating. Looming. 

Intense.

He was about to say something before Felassan interrupted him in elvish. The Herald nodded, casually eyeing the interior. There was a moment she could swear their gaze locked. His stare was penetrating. It was as if he could see through walls. Again, it was only a feeling, nothing more. 

Truth be told, she found him a bit terrifying. Like a strict _hahren,_ or maybe a harsh taskmaster. 

He turned his back on her before tucking his hands behind him. Then he began to speak in elvish. 

Straight, fluent, elvish. 

On his tongue, it sounded like a song.

The ram she had left on the fire started to boil. _Ah!_ She should probably prepare some refreshments. She replaced the cooking pot with a kettle, carefully picking the hanging dried herbs for tea. She continued cutting the remainder of vegetables so as to not waste a moment. 

She checked them from time to time. The two men were still talking. Still in elvish.

Whatever it was they discussed, it was obvious they didn't want anyone to know.

When the kettle shrieked, Ellana jumped. She hurriedly took it out of the fire and began rummaging the cupboards for the spare and best looking crockery. Carefully, she began to pour the hot liquid into two cups, gathered some biscuits and arranged the tray for presentation. 

Ellana breathed deeply, steadying herself. How terrible would it be if her hands started shaking during service.

But when she came out, there was only Felassan sitting by his study chair, smoking another elfroot.

"Oh, I thought you guys were still discussing."

Felassan blew a smoke. “Solas is a busy man. You have no idea how demanding people can be once they realize you’re competent.”

Solas. 

_So, that’s the Herald’s name._

Ellana placed the tray on the table. “Is he from your clan?”

Felassan flicked her a bored look, but Ellana had learned early in life how to read people, and she knew him for a while now, she could tell he was wary. “What made you say that?”

She shrugged, “It’s how you guys talk. You seem to know each other. Besides, he clearly speaks elvish like you do. It seemed like a Dalish thing to do.”

“You’re not fluent in _elvhen,”_ he pointed out.

“I’m not exactly a Keeper nor their apprentice.” 

_Even still, I don't think Deshanna can speak it as fluently as you guys just did._ She only heard her speak with Mahanon and Isene and they were only short, memorized phrases, not a fully articulated conversation. 

“Aren’t you resentful such knowledge was kept from you?”

“Not really,” she said. “Deshanna couldn’t possibly divide her time with managing the clan, magical lessons and worrying about where to go next. Besides, there’s really no time to sit and study. We’re always on the lookout for danger, always on the move.” Then she paused, finding it awkward that she had to explain what should have been common knowledge. “I mean, you know this.”

“I suppose I do,” he sipped his tea and motioned for the other cup. "You should have that. Next time don’t bother yourself on his account, he’s not fond of tea anyway."

Ellana took a biscuit, “I better get that ram back to boiling.” After that, she returned to take a cup for herself and sat on her cot. “So, is the Herald really from your clan?”

“Ah, still on this, are we?”

She cocked her head to the side, “It’s a simple question.”

“He doesn’t have a _vallaslin,_ does he?”

“True…” _But again, so did Da._ But she pushed that thought aside. That would be too personal a question to ask. _And painful too._ Speaking of questions though… “You know, I noticed something. Why do you always answer my questions with more questions?”

“I thought you love questions?”

"Yes, but not as an answer to the one I just asked."

"What can I say, _da'len?_ The world is full of the unknown."

"Don't wax philosophy on me, _hahren,"_ she said pointedly. "You even do that to the ones you clearly _know."_

"I do, don't I?"

Ellana rolled her eyes, “Ugh. Can I ever get a straight answer from you?”

“Maybe?” Felassan laughed. “Ah, _leanash!_ I should probably sic you on Solas, he’ll love you."

 _Err, no, thank you._ She wouldn't wish to be under his scrutiny. Besides, most of her questions were dumb or annoying, she couldn't possibly waste the Herald's time with them.

She snorted and played along. “Well, that’ll be something. At least I'd _finally_ get some answers.”

“Not really, but you can try. Fair warning though, he does drone on at times," then he looked thoughtful. "Now that I think about it, I am now uncertain who would be tortured more.” 

Felassan, of course, laughed deeply after. He seemed to be the only one who enjoys his cryptic humor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leanash - glorious
> 
> Credits to RuBecSo in Deviantart for providing us with a very detailed Fereldan map!


	6. The Empress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _...The Empress looked on me still smiling and, under the influence of that smile, I suddenly felt a flower of some clear understanding open in my heart._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our longest chapter to date! Squeezing it for the month of love xD
> 
> TW: deals with warshock/PTSD/depression
> 
> Thanks again to Dore for beta-reading!

_No. No, no, no, no, no. No..._

The Veil was torn. There were chains on the wall. Water, stagnant water. Black and red. Was it blood? No, no, not blood. It was the light. Red lights, like torches in the dark. Only it wasn’t fire. The mind played its tricks. Protects. A prison with familiar faces inside. Blurry. Elusive. Red eyes. There were hallways, yes. A library of torn books. There were people, and they burned. Flame in hands. Red, like the walls. Glowing. So did the eyes. They were red. 

Everything was just red. Red, red, red, _red._

Like blood.

_This is just a future you wished never happened._

The hands, blood. There was blood. Crimson and dripping and they were in the walls. 

And they glow.

_We suffered. It was real._

He could not think. He could not feel. He watched his body move in a mechanized routine, flinging bolts of lighting at figures who mindlessly kill. Limbless body fell, cauterized by magic. Iron, smoke and the musky scent of charcoaled skin mingled into a sickening concoction. The Fade clung to him, heightening the sensations he felt. 

He felt like death.

He ran.

_You can’t escape your own mind._

“You have as much time as I have arrows,” a shell of a woman spoke.

_Bang!_

He flinched.

“Herald!” someone pulled him. “You mustn’t leave the ritual circle!”

_Bang! Bang!_

He wanted to curl and shut his ears.

A roar, a battlecry. Then the silence. The doors opened, followed by the dull thud of bodies carelessly thrown like a sack on the floor. Allies. Colleagues.

_Friends._

A hand grabbed his. "Don't cast anything! The incantation is frail enough as it is, any ambient magic may doom us to failure!"

Then there was light. 

An all-consuming light.

This time, nothing hurts, but the masochistic part of him wished that it did. 

Pain was preferable than this cold numbness.

***

Solas’ knees hit the floor brutally. He gasped, inhaling the heavy, uncorrupted air until his lungs hurt.

“Herald.”

He looked around and saw there were people around him. Walls. Banners. Braziers. He watched his fingers curl and they dug on the carpeted floors.

“Herald!”

Solas blinked and found a hand before him. Nauseous. He couldn't trust his legs to stand. He took it and he was pulled up.

“Herald, you look a bit worn,” the man said a little too genially. “But I’m afraid it isn’t over yet.” He cocked his head to the side. 

Solas didn’t follow. He stared at him, his brows furrowed. A name glided to his lips. “Dorian.”

“I’m too memorable to be forgotten,” he smiled, but the edges of his eyes looked tense.

His senses slowly returned to him. Redcliffe Castle. 9:41 Dragon Age. The man kneeling before him was the Magister Alexius. Behind him was his son Felix. Grand Enchanter Fiona was on the aisle. Inquisition agents behind the pillars. The monarchs of Ferelden by the stairs. Dorian, Charter, Vivienne and Cassandra. 

They were staring.

Solas was out of himself. A spectator in his own flesh. 

It was clear that everyone had said their piece and was now waiting for what he would say. He had not heard them above the ringing in his ears. Their concerns did not matter. He _remembered_ why he was here.

 _Stand straight,_ he ordered and his body obeyed. He tucked his shaking hands behind his coat. He heard himself intone, clear and authoritative, announcing: "The Inquisition welcomes the mages as their allies."

An old, old voice whispered, _You didn't stutter. Good._

There was a murmur of dissent from his companions. People swarmed his side, posing counter-arguments. Asking for reconsideration. Solas ignored them. He looked at his feet, he looked at the floor. It wouldn't do if he tripped. The court had many eyes and they were watching. _Always watching._ Stone made way to grass, and braziers to sun. He squinted.

Too damn bright.

The heat crawled beneath his skin and he wanted to scream.

"Are you alright?"

Dorian, again.

He felt so _raw_ a simple inquiry threatened to break all the composure he had. _Bury it. Do not think. Do not feel. Not now. Not in front of everyone_. His mask was impenetrable. 

_No weaknesses._

And yet, his traitorous tongue confessed, "No."

_I haven't been 'alright' for a long time._

"Here, hold on to me," the altus offered.

Solas looked at him blankly.

He had been harsh to him when they had first met, dismissing him as nothing more than a self-indulgent and petulant hypocrite, incapable of introspecting the suffering the comforts of his life required. How he had proved him wrong. 

Emotion choked the words out of him. "I'm _sorry."_

Dorian looked flabbergasted. Of course. He was not the Dorian that died in the field, his body buried by other bodies in a mortuary of mud and blood. 

Solas doubted that one would ever forgive him.

It was cruel of him to even ask.

"I, well, yes. It was a terrible event," this Dorian said albeit confused. "I am glad we could put it all behind us." He fidgeted slightly. "I am sorry, too. For your companions. I imagine it was… difficult to watch and do… nothing."

No one could witness so much death and remain unchanged. 

And he had a millenia worth of them. 

Pain hit him like a hammer directly to his chest and suddenly he couldn’t breathe. Everything started to close in. The breeze, the trees, the _fucking_ itch that ran elusively from his arms to his spine. Solas struggled at the neckline of his leather that wrapped around him like a noose.

A light touch on his elbow jolted him.

"If I may ask, what do you intend to do with Alexius?"

"Alexius." Solas' eyes flitted to Felix. The young man looked fuzzy, standing in his yellow clothes with an ochre door behind him. Then the image of him huddling with his mind corrupted flashed in his mind. "...He did it all for his son."

"He did. Felix and his wife were ambushed by darkspawn. Alexius blamed himself for that. He thought, had he been there, he could have done something to prevent it. His wife died, and Felix, well…"

"He is the only thing of worth to him."

"Yes. It's tragic and it doesn't excuse him from his crimes, but… surely, some consideration? He is misguided, but not entirely malicious."

Solas watched as the Inquisition soldiers dragged the Magister away. His eyes were only on Felix, begging his son for his forgiveness.

"You believe he deserves mercy?"

Dorian answered without pause. "I do."

Solas felt no anger towards Alexius. In fact, he felt nothing. 

Only certainty.

"I would have done the same."

 _I already did._

The confession came unbidden. Tears pooled inside his lids, but none of them betrayed him and fell. The only difference was _he_ succeeded whereas the Magister had failed.

Dorian looked at him. Pity in his eyes.

The itch worsened.

Solas was restless. His hand refused to stop shaking. He conducted calisthenics on his wrists, popping his knuckles when Dorian stopped him with a hand on his elbow once more. 

"Between you and me, Herald. I still believe Alexius is a good man,” he whispered. He appeared uncertain before adding, “And I think you are as well."

Solas felt sick.

"We are not performing in court, Lord Pavus. You needn't profess praise so casually."

He saw him open his mouth to speak, but Solas tugged his elbow and walked away.

***

"- And I looked that demon in the eyes -"

"An eye, chief. An eye! You only got one eye!" Someone below the table yelled.

"- And said, 'do you know who I am? Do you know. Who. I. Am?' And then, and then, I swung my large axe down on its head and roared: 'I AM THE IRON BULL!'"

Someone had axed a cask for the visuals, threw it at the Iron Bull and the Qunari drank heartilly, then began raining down ale all over the frenzied patrons. In the corner, Ellana could see Flissa and Beth groaning.

 _Iron Bull, Iron Bull, Iron Bull!_ They chanted.

“That’s shite, yeah,” a blonde woman in red piped in from somewhere on Ellana’s side. “Why ask stupid if you gonna hack it before it knew!”

The dwarf beside her guffawed, “That’s a good point, Buttercup!”

“How about a wager that _never_ happened?” Another man shouted, burly and bushy, and totally struggling to be heard from the ruckus around them.

“Are you sure, Warden?” the dwarf said. “We don’t have any more buckets to hide your bits if you lose!”

The Iron Bull threw the now empty cask and bellowed, "Chaaaaaargers! Horn's up!"

And everyone in the tavern downed their ale and slammed their mugs.

 _“Da’len!”_ Ellana saw Felassan raised a hand from several tables ahead of her. “Over here!”

Ellana waded through the crowd, bumping shoulder to shoulder and finally sat down at their table situated a bit more privately behind Flissa's bar. There was a boy with a large brimmed hat huddling at the cornerside. 

“Dark, dank, the waters deep and drowning. Howling in the night, must keep hiding. Keeping secrets in the lair of its keeper. Mother, I'm afraid.” Big blue eyes watched her behind a curtain of yellow hair. “But you didn’t kill him, you tried to save him. It wasn't your fault.”

Ellana gasped.

“Can you see him?” Felassan watched her with a curious expression after handing her an ale.

Ellana blinked, “What?”

“Cole.”

“Cole?”

Felassan motioned to her side and Ellana looked to the empty space. She had a weird feeling, but for the life of her, she couldn't recall what prompted it.

“I’m not sure what…?”

“Here ye go,” Beth interrupted with a pleasant smelling roasted nug. She smiled sweetly at them both. The older woman then nudged her discreetly and winked, mouthing _'I like him,'_ motioning roundly at her face to say Felassan was handsome, making kissy faces and giving Ellana a thumbs up.

_Ehh?_

She shooed the giggling Beth before returning her attention to Felassan. He was tearing through the meat for specific parts he wanted. He can be a bit finicky.

“Welcome back by the way,” she said. “How did your trip go?”

“Iron Bull seems to be regaling us with the tale.”

Ellana found that the Iron Bull had now two ladies on both arms, dancing with him to Maryden's tune on top of the table. “Is any of it true though?”

“It is a most entertaining rendition," Felassan kept slicing and checking and slicing again.

Speaking of entertaining, “Minaeve was crooning with all the samples your team had brought. That's the first I've seen anyone look so happy seeing a glass full of ichor… Oh! Dang! Minaeve!” Felassan only raised a brow when she stood up. “I promised to get her for dinner! Can you save us a seat?”

"I'm not going anywhere," he smiled as he finally found the cut he wanted, and Ellana left him there chewing merrily and offering a piece to the empty space in the corner.

***

Solas walked into the woods alone.

He had indulged his preference for solitude ever since he returned from Redcliffe. The green light of the Breach dethroned the moon in the sky and its wisp-like glow illuminated his path. 

The advisers thankfully gave him time to himself, having runners leave missives and reports on his table instead of requiring his presence in the War Room. 

The latest of Leliana's reports informed him that her scouts found an empty fortress leagues away in the heart of the mountains. She raised her concern that the root cause of the Breach may be far more complicated than it appeared and endorsed that the Inquisition could benefit in acquiring the durable stronghold. Any commander worth their title knows that Haven was indefensible. It will not survive an attack, as was proven before.

Cullen had written that Felassan and the Chargers were successful with their covert operation in assassinating the false Lord Seeker. The remainder of the templars had sworn their swords and their fealty for the Inquisition. He was unimpressed that the Order was now formally disbanded. His dissatisfaction was understandable and it showed in how curt he had been as of late.

Solas was impervious to it all.

Instead, he spent most of his time in his nightly wanderings, succumbing to a dreamless sleep in the morning hours. He didn’t feel like dealing with anything at the moment. The mere sight of another person made him feel like thorns were dragged all over his skin.

Made even worse whenever they looked up to him as their savior.

And all he could see were dead faces.

In the clearing, the Breach was fully visible. A reminder of who he was and what he had done. 

What he would _still_ do.

The Anchor thrummed with power and for a miniscule moment he _hated_ the damn magic so much. He felt resentment so strong he was tempted to _burn_ everything and put himself at the center of the pyre.

He scoffed.

_How Andrastian._

The crawling sensation returned. Invisible rashes bloomed inside his skin.

He leaned his head on a trunk and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. His damn _hand_ won't stop shaking.

What happened in that nightmare of a future clung to him like an unhealed pus, stinging clear and bleeding still. He had _failed_ again. And once more, a different world, a different time suffered for it. 

They died. Everyone. 

Again. 

Some of them even offered their lives to save _him,_ not knowing to whom they were sacrificing themselves for. He might as well have wrung the life out of them, watch their faces turn purple as bitterness and betrayal wriggle in their guts like a poisonous worm, and finally see himself in the white of their eyes, reflecting the monster he _truly_ was.

The itch became a throb. It generated its own pulse and no matter how much he rubbed, pinched or scratched, relief eluded him.

His insides started to tighten, feeling crushed and constricted. He pushed himself off the tree, running off. _Where? Where?_ Where else could he go? In his mindless rush, he tripped on a protruding root and he fell knee first on the snow. His palms caught the ground. The cold was bitter on his skin. 

He was at his limit. One more tragedy was one _too_ many. 

_Too_ much.

Grief made a nest in his heart. Its beak pecked until there was more hole instead of being whole. He clasped his chest and wheezed.

Never before had he felt so unbearably _alone._

It was then that something inside of him broke irreparably. Solas curled down and sobbed.

In the cold, dark night, his tears were molten.

His woe is but a sigh in comparison to the wail of innumerable lives his blighted arrogance had ruined. Mourning for them now seemed like a mockery of their memories, considering he was set on the path to do it all over again.

His gaze drifted up to the Breach. A tear, a wound and he was the butcher set to rupture the lesion.

_You really are a monster._

_A traitor of the worst kind._

Solas opened his mouth in a silent cry.

He clenched the cold, unforgiving ground and gritted his teeth, reining in all of his emotions, crumpling them into a small lump and shoveling them deep, deep inside, willing them to never come out.

He has a duty he must see through.

_A duty to who?_

_For who?_

He scrunched his eyes close.

_What is one man's pain to the collective suffering of the world?_

_Nothing_.

 _He is_ nothing.

He cannot - _must not_ \- fall apart.

 _I don't matter..._ _I don't matter..._ _I don't matter..._

  
  


***

The Chantry was hectic.

Deep into the evening the council was still working. Sister Leliana and Commander Cullen could be glimpsed pacing by the War Room, discussing in hushed tones. Several agents and scribes were still huddled in the pew-turned-worktable as a flurry of runners came and went as fast as the ravens carried and returned missive after missive.

Ellana turned left to the half-opened door to the Ambassador's office, where Minaeve also receives requests and reports for study. She had made her acquaintance during Felassan's trip with the Bull's Chargers. At such time, Ellana had nothing to do and decided to volunteer and help the grumpy Adan. Felassan doesn't really give her much tasks and she was free to pursue whatever work she wished most of the time. 

Adan and Minaeve frequently exchange sources, what was used for medication could also be used for preservation. At first Minaeve had reservations when she first sighted her _vallaslin,_ regardless the two elves became fast friends.

A woman with dark, luminous skin was speaking Orlesian to a scribe. She had the most elaborate headdress Ellana had ever seen - precious stones embedded in expensive silks, shaped like a horn. She didn't turn as Ellana entered.

She quickly and quietly tapped her friend's shoulder.

Minaeve looked like she was just woken up, too focused on her work. She rubbed her eyes, "Oh, is it dinner already?"

Ellana nodded, "Everyone's at the tavern."

"I see. Let me finish this last one. There's lots of samples to wade through," she pointed at what she once told Ellana were _dreamer rags_ and _spirit essences._ "Unfortunately, these things don't care about your schedule. They'd be useless if I don't attend to them immediately."

"I can bring you your food here, if you want?"

"No need. That's okay, thank you though. I'll follow shortly."

Ellana had heard in passing that they had discovered a new kind of lyrium. It was red. She asked her friend about it.

"I don't know much to be honest," Minaeve looked uneasy. "And I really don't want to be near it. I'd leave it to the dwarves, it's more their forte after all."

Ellana nodded and was about to leave when she encountered Lady Montilyet in the doorway. "Oh, Mistress Lavellan. You might be the rescuer I need tonight," the Antivan woman exclaimed dramatically.

Ellana liked Josephine. 

Lady Montilyet was the very personification of grace, intelligence and character. She was always polite regardless with whom she spoke with. If Ellana had a model for the kind of person she wished to be, it would be the elegant diplomat. 

"What can I do for you, ambassador?"

She handed her several parchments sealed with wax. "Could you kindly deliver this to the Herald's cabin? All our runners are out and about with all the preparations we are undergoing."

_Finally, closing the Breach._

"Of course, ambassador." 

"You are Maker sent!" She surreptitiously dropped a silver in her pocket and smiled sweetly. Ellana was surprised, but knew better than to argue with her about the generous tip.

She tucked the reports securely inside her cloak and went on it. Outside, she saw the elderly cook bring a tray of food from the Chantry kitchen. The ceramic pot was covered, but she could smell the aromatic food inside. Her own stomach grumbled, telling her she hadn't yet had her own dinner.

"Brother, evening," she greeted. "That's mouth-watering you have there!"

The old man chuckled, "The Herald deserves no less." He was huddling a bit, and Ellana could see him struggle with the weight of it all plus the added hazard of the weather.

"Why don't I take it for you then? I'm on my way there to deliver something, too."

He looked grateful. He handed the tray to her and said, "Bless you, child. The cold hasn't been good on my knees and those stairs can be quite slippery."

"Don't mention it."

Everything seemed to be going well for the Inquisition and everyone was in high spirits, their prospect for the future secured. Their affection for the Herald was felt. Everyone knew no one had worked harder than him to bring the two opposing factions to their side - a feat even the late Divine hadn't managed.

The more daunting his task, the more his success appeared miraculous.

She made her way down to his cabin, situated at the lower levels near the gate. Warm candlelight beckoned her from within. Clearing her throat, Ellana knocked.

"Herald?"

No answer. She rapped again.

"Herald? There's a missive for you."

Nothing. 

_Well, he could be asleep._ Straightening her clothes and her spine, she announced:

"Excuse me, I'm coming in, alright?"

She placed the tray at a nearby barrel and opened the door. The warm hearth greeted her, but there was no one inside. Ellana carefully placed the tray on the table. Taking the parchment off her cloak, she put a weight on top of it to prevent the Frostback winds from scattering them all over the place.

She looked around. The interior was neat and spacious. Not a personal effect could be seen, except perhaps for a lone backpack with a jaw pendant wrapped around its front. Nothing in the place told him who the man was that occupied it. Only that he was the transient kind.

The door creaked open and was quietly shut.

Ellana saw the Herald come in, her greetings at the ready. He was dragging his feet as he entered. His posture was slumped and even in the warm interior light his skin appeared pallid. When he looked up, their eyes met.

The world seemed to stop.

His eyes widened. His lips parted, but no words left them. Momentarily, his gaze flitted to the side then promptly returned, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. He has penetrating blue-grey eyes like that of a brewing storm, burning and cold at the same time. He strode from the door and into the cabin proper, his stare never leaving her, pinning her to the spot. He sat slowly at the side of his bed. Silent and unblinking.

Whatever welcome Ellana prepared, withered on her lips. She felt frozen. Vulnerable.

Exposed.

His breathing sounded laborous.

Ellana daren't breathe at all.

The stand off may have been only a moment, but to Ellana it was far, far longer. The air felt taut like rubber, ready to snap.

Pooling all her courage, she swallowed. "...H-Herald?" Her voice sounded squeaky even in her own ears.

That seemed to have snapped him from his stupor. His throat bobbed. His face was unreadable. Then he blinked in rapid succession, looking at everything except her. 

The room felt tight.

Heavy.

Tense.

Adrenaline washed over her and Ellana had the sudden urge to flee. She knew when she was unwanted, but to just bolt and run was out of the question.

"Lady Montilyet asked me to deliver the reports. It's all there on the tray along with your dinner," she babbled an explanation as she slowly retreated. "I-I'm sorry for interrupting your evening!"

She was almost at the door when he exclaimed, "No-!" 

Ellana jumped.

He was partially standing, hand outstretched. Then he went back down to sit. He coughed, then softly he repeated, "...No. No. You are not interrupting. I… Please, there is no need for an apology." He let out a long and choked exhale.

He looked… impossibly sad.

Ellana was at a loss. She didn’t know what to do. She didn't know what to say. She didn’t know him and what he was like. Her heart was skipping a beat and it was becoming more and more difficult to think. He made her feel ill at ease and a part of her couldn't wait to get out and away from him.

"Well, I should-"

"How is-

Both of them stopped.

"Please, you go-"

"After you-"

Ellana held her tongue and waited for him to continue. Of course, somehow, he thought the same. 

This was becoming ridiculous.

She cleared her throat a tad loudly, signalling she was about to speak. With more dignity than earlier, she reiterated her egress. "I-I will leave you to rest, Herald. Good eve," she did a small curtsey and turned.

Abruptly he stood up and announced, "Your face-"

Ellana startled. Immediately, her fingers flew to her _vallaslin._ She had stopped covering them as of late considering everyone by now knew she was Dalish.

He took a step towards her and extended a hand as if to touch her cheek, but stopped short and asked demurely, "May I?"

He said it in a voice so low and alluring it was impossible to say 'no.' Ellana swallowed then nodded. He stepped even closer, both hands now hovering on both sides of her jaw. Then blue light filled her vision and something warm and soothing caressed her skin. 

"There. It won't scar," he whispered.

Absent-mindedly, she touched the wound she has had since the Breach began. 

"Oh, I…-" but her words died on her tongue.

They were standing so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath as he breathed, ruffling her hair a bit. The Herald was a tall man, the top of her head didn't even reach his chin. This close all she could see was the intricate tailoring of his tunic. She looked up and what Ellana found there made her heart pound. 

Firelight had softened his features, making the slopes and angles of his face less harsh. Dare she say he looked handsome even. But more than that, it was the intensity of _him_ that seemed to cage and enrapture her. She just realized his hands had never left the sides of her face and they were so close now, she could imagine the _feel_ of them on her skin.

Large and commanding.

Scabrous and searing.

Fingers trailed her hair and she shivered.

Ellana exhaled through her lips and she saw his eyes became lidded. He was leaning low and their bodies swayed towards each other. If she stepped on her toes… 

He licked his lower lip and she parted hers. He took a small step forward, then another, until space disappeared between them. There were freckles on his nose, the tip almost brushing hers. He smelled of the woods, the night breeze and a _familiar_ comforting scent.

He was warm, so _warm,_ but Ellana couldn't help the chill that emanated deep inside her guts. 

His was like the heat that warned of a deluge, the humid air before the clap of thunderous storm.

His thumb grazed her cheek and she gasped. Electricity ran from the contact down to her toes. Her entire body was in an uproar. Ellana had never felt anything as potent as this. He leaned lower. His hand splayed at the small of her back. She arched, a gesture of offering. She almost closed her eyes, but his pupils… 

His pupils were dilated; it was almost swallowed by black. 

He was _danger._

The embodiment of that phenomenon that irrationally urges you to jump off the cliff, the gravity that lures you from underneath, whispering _leap, leap, leap..._

Drawing her in…

Drowning...

Devouring…

_No._

With her hands on his chest, she pushed him gently and stepped back.

He inhaled sharply. His body recoiled violently. He withdrew, simultaneously releasing them both from an enchantment that bound them. 

With the distance, she found she could breathe again more freely. Her heart was beating wildly and her uneasiness was re-doubled.

_What even-?_

Ellana had the sudden urge to dunk her head on the snow. She didn't even associate the Herald with anything remotely romantic.

_What has gotten into me?_

He took another huge step back. His posture hunched in shame. The Herald washed his face with his hand, curling his fingers on his mouth and biting them.

"Apologies. I am making you uncomfortable."

Ellana hadn't realized her face was burning. "No, not at all," she blurted without thinking. "I mean, thank you." Touching the cheek he had healed.

He closed his eyes and shook his head, unhearing of what she had said, "I'm sorry. I have not been myself as of late."

"Oh, no, _nononono!_ There's really no need to apologize," she laughed nervously, fanning her hands as if the awkwardness would be swept away.

He gave her a small, sad smile. 

He really looked paler than she remembered. 

She watched him with worry. He did appear to be ill. Ellana stepped slightly closer, an outstretch hand between them. She wasn't sure if the gesture was meant to offer aid or ward him off. "...Are you alright?"

He seemed to regard it for the latter and he retreated further from her, "...I will be."

"Perhaps, you'd like to rest? You really look… unwell, if you don't mind me saying." He shook his head at that. "I can send someone to bring some tinctures… or-or tonics?"

"No, that won't be necessary."

Silence.

His eyes drifted to the tray. "Have you had dinner?"

She relaxed a bit, eager to swept the earlier weirdness aside and move on to quotidian topics. "Ah, no. No. Not yet. I was about to get one, actually."

"Would you like to break bread with me?" 

Ellana suddenly felt put-upon. She considered Felassan and the others that await her in the tavern.

But her pause was read as a rejection and the Herald held his hands up. "Do not be concerned. I will not take offense if you do not wish to."

He gave a reassuring smile as an afterthought.

He looked so utterly defeated.

So _lonely._

Ellana’s heart went out to him. _I couldn’t possibly leave him like this._ Maybe, if she could explain it to the others… "Oh, I mean, sure. I should probably get my own portion, though."

"I will share you mine," he offered eagerly.

“I-I couldn’t possibly… I mean, that’s for you, your Worship.”

As soon as he heard the honorific, he winced.

_Ahhh!_

“You know, what? That actually smells better than what they serve at the tavern,” _Sorry, everyone._ She vowed to make it all up with them later or tomorrow.

"I'm sorry. If I am interrupting anything at all-"

"Oh, no. Not at all. It's really fine!"

"Are you sure?"

"Mhmm!"

The Herald looked unconvinced.

Ellana hurriedly went to the table to make her point and arrange the meal, but the Herald had beat her to it. She sat awkwardly as he took the ceramic cover as his plate and gave her his bowl. Not to mention, he offered her the spoon while he suffered the fork. For the soup. 

As he held the utensil, his hand was subtly shaking. He saw her staring and he withdrew them, wiping them with a napkin before hiding them casually from her sight. Ellana pretended to find the ceramics really intriguing.

After a stretch of silence, Ellana spoke, "I just realized I never thanked you.”

He looked up, seemingly startled from his daze. “What for?”

“For saving my life, in the temple. And after that.”

“Ah.”

Another round of silence.

“You know, I never thought to be involved in something as big as the Inquisition. When I got onto that boat from Wycome, I thought it would all just be a quick thing, that I’d be home after a week or so.”

“Instead, you decided to join.”

“Yes, never thought I would really. Being imprisoned wasn’t really thrilling, I’ll admit.”

"I never expected you to return." He had spoken them so softly half of her wondered if she had imagined it.

"Neither did I, to be honest."

"And your clanmates?"

She smiled at his thoughtful questions. "On their way back to Wycome." 

He only nodded.

Ellana didn't tell him that they planned to rally any Dalish clans they had met or would meet to help combat the Breach and whoever caused it. She didn't know how he would take it or give him any false hope in case nothing became of the endeavor.

The quiet returned and this time Ellana didn’t speak further. It would appear that the Herald was not in a talkative mood. It would be insensitive to keep pushing for a conversation.

After a while though, he initiated. “Why did you come back, if you do not mind me asking?”

“Not at all,” she smiled. “I guess, it’s because you saved me and I didn’t even manage to thank you for the rescue.”

“A letter would have sufficed.” Then he curled his lips belatedly, seemingly thinking his words might offend her.

“No way,” she gesticulated with gusto, partly to express she understood what he meant and partly to inject some liveliness to their conversation. “Come on, that’s not right.”

His eyes crinkled. “It was gratitude that made you join then?”

“Gratitude made me go back to Haven. Seeing the giant hole in the sky again made me stay. You just don’t look away from that, you know. I knew then and there that I had to help, no matter how little." Ellana looked down on the bowl. "A lot of those people died. And out of all of them, only the two of us survived. And only one of us was able to leave, scot free.”

He looked somber once more.

Ellana played with her food. “I always think about that time, what if I was the one who had gotten Marked. What would I have done then? It is a frightening thought and I’m not going to lie, I’m glad it wasn’t me.” Realizing what she had just implied, Ellana backtracked. “I-I mean, not that I wished it on you – or – or…” she covered her lips with her fingers. _Gods, I’m making a mess of this…_

He touched her hand on the table briefly, “I understand what you mean.”

Relieved, she blurted. “You’ve given us hope and I just… well, I hope you also know that we are all right behind you.”

His face was blank and he nodded politely.

Ellana's worry returned. He looked to be under some kind of fugue. Maybe a fever? He had been working non-stop, no wonder he looked so drained and out of it. Perhaps it could be the strange magic on his palm. She needn't be a mage to know it was unique, a blessing from Andraste if you'd believe what everybody else says.

A blessing and a burden.

"Herald, if I may speak freely?"

"Please."

"I think you really need to have someone take a look at you." He was quiet. "Do you want me to get Felassan?"

"No.”

“...Alright,” she complied reluctantly. _Better to inform him still. I'm not taking chances._

He looked at her apologetically. "You're upset."

"No, no. I just… excuse me," she stood up from her chair and walked over to him. "If I may?" Echoing his gesture to her earlier.

She heard him breathe sharply. 

“Don’t worry. I’ve worked with my clan herbalist before, I know what I’m doing,” she soothed.

He looked cornered and his hands clawed the armchair, but he nodded.

Ellana approached him like she would approach a wounded animal. Carefully, she felt for his temperature. He closed his eyes and breathed slowly. He was cold and clammy.

"How are you feeling? Any pain or discomfort?" 

"I feel a little better."

That was a non-answer if she ever heard any. Ellana frowned. He looked pale as a sheet. Well, he wasn't going to make this easy. _Such a stubborn man._

He opened his eyes gently. She never realized how kind looking they could be. “How do you find your stay in Haven?”

“It’s been good,” she replied. She took his wrist and read his pulse. They were frantic. “It’s been interesting working with Adan and Felassan.”

"Felassan," he breathed, then chuckled. "I hope he hasn't worn you with his ramblings." 

"Funny, he said the same thing about you."

The Herald's eyes widened and for a moment Ellana thought she had crossed the line, but he laughed, soft and sweet sounding.

"What else did he say?"

"I'm not snitching on him," she hazard a teasing smile.

"Such loyalty is a rare quality," he declared sincerely.

Ellana felt her cheeks reddened. “I mean, he did get me in here.” She checked his fingers lastly, they were of healthy color. Not cyanic. Then, she laid his hand back to the armrest gently. Studying his face clinically, she saw the darkened bruise along his under eye. “Have you had any trouble sleeping?"

He dropped his eyes away from her gaze. Color did return to his cheeks. "Nothing that is too concerning."

Ellana felt like rubbing her nose bridge. Apparently, he was one of those really difficult patients. Somehow, she found she wasn't surprised. 

"I think I can whip up something for you." Ellana dabbed a cloth on his perspiring forehead. "I also think you really need to rest now. This could all be exhaustion.”

He nodded.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to check on you… maybe, tomorrow? Or whenever you have time."

It could be the firelight or her imagination, but his ears looked tinted as he murmured, "Anytime. I do not mind."

“Well, then, I shall see you tomorrow, Herald. Thank you for the dinner.”

"I will walk you to your quarters," he started.

“You’re not listening. I just told you to rest,” she smiled to lessen the reprimand.

“I couldn’t possibly-”

She waved him off playfully, "Oh, no need to bother yourself. I do appreciate the offer though.”

“It is not a bother.” But he didn’t insist further. Instead, he walked her to the door and opened it for her. Ellana stepped out and when she turned, the Herald was watching her, a most curious expression on his face. She couldn’t exactly read what it said, the dim green light of the Breach had cast the angles of his face in deep shadows.

“Thank you for this evening.”

She couldn’t see his eyes and yet she knew he meant every word.

"Likewise," she replied.

Ellana walked to the direction of Felassan’s cabin. On her way, she saw the rowdy patrons at the tavern.

A stark contrast to the lonesome Herald.

While everyone celebrated their victory, he was alone. He took all the burden and looked after them all. 

_But who is looking after you?_

Suddenly, she didn’t feel like participating. She looked back and saw he was still standing by the doorsill.

Ellana waved a hand.

Shortly after, he raised his own.

He stood there, ever watchful, even after she had turned the corner and retreated into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just sharing one of the songs that pretty much inspired this pairing and dynamic xD
> 
> 'And so it goes' by Billy Joel, especially these bits, but the entire song is totally precious to me:
> 
> So I would choose to be with you  
> That's if the choice were mine to make  
> But you can make decisions too  
> And you can have this heart to break
> 
> You can listen to it here in this YT link:  
> https://youtu.be/UJJFuEBLJ4w


	7. The Hierophant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"The Path is in yourself, and Truth is in yourself and Mystery is in yourself."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's everyone! 
> 
> Or almost. 
> 
> A fluff chapter to commemorate the day!

It was inevitable.

For every footstep in Haven, he thought of her. For every person that passed him by, he longed for her. A squeak of shoes, a swoosh of fabric, a laughter made him turn to their sources. Her invisible presence became a ghost that haunted him even in waking. The knowledge that she was here, at arm's length, did not deter his yearning. In fact, it burned all the more brighter.

He sighed.

Perhaps, for a hundredth time that morning.

Solas hadn't been paying attention to the ruckus that was the War Room. To be honest, he felt he wasn't entirely needed by the Council with how heavy the traffic of conversation was between them. When he asked to be excused, they all rushed and said that it would be best if he rested, after sending all assurances that they would inform him of any concern.

Solas needed to take his mind off _certain_ things. Preferably, do something to help set it back into focus. He wandered a bit, absent-mindedly nodding at every well-wishers he happened to collide with. 

Finally, he decided to speak with Felassan.

And instead found Ellana.

When he entered the cabin, she looked up at him in mild surprise. His heart was caught in his throat and it ran a league per second.

"Oh, Herald! Good morning. Are you looking for Felassan?"

He was too dumbfounded to speak, so he nodded.

"Sister Leliana called on him earlier this morning. I think it has something to do with the mage recruits?"

“I see.”

_We must have missed each other at the Chantry._

He looked around the interior. The space was redecorated. There was now a weaved rug along the fireside where embers of coal were generously fed. Linen curtains were tied with ribbons along the sides of the windowsill, while small pots of fresh herbs littered along its lower frame. Bowls filled with petals could be found on top of end tables, and mounted shelves where varied books in dyed leather were arranged by color. 

The space was homey. 

It didn’t at all seem like Felassan. 

_A woman’s touch,_ Solas realized. _Intriguing._ He never expected Felassan to indulge in such an open display of intimacy. Although it shouldn’t be surprising. Love changes people. His eyes drifted to the woman who had enchanted him, body and soul. Ellana was still looking at him expectantly and Solas felt blood rushed to his face.

He cleared his head and eyed the room once more. Truth be told he was glad for his friend. Happiness had been rare in their lives. Felassan had been through a lot and for him to finally find someone to form a bond with... Who was he to begrudge his friend of such comforts?

_Am I not longing one for myself?_

He smiled at Ellana and hoped it didn’t bewray all his affection, considering how she had reacted to them the last time. 

"Do you mind if I wait for him?"

"Oh, not at all." She pulled a stool out of under the table she worked on - it was adjacent to hers. "Do you want some refreshments? We only have tea and water," she said almost apologetically.

Solas' mind blanked. "...We?"

"Yes?" He must have looked confused since she chuckled and clarified. "Oh, I am staying here with him. I'm a companion of his," her lips curled to a private humor. "Sort of."

The world stopped in its axis.

His mind tried to work out what she had said, but somehow coherence refused to adhere. He stopped before something _dark_ and _ugly_ consumed him. 

_Impulsive and impatient,_ he internally berated himself. _You are jumping into conclusions._

Information. When in doubt, acquire more information.

“...Companion?” he said testily. Swallowed than spoke, more like.

“Mhmm, for weeks now, I think.”

That wasn't as clear as he had hoped. Solas wondered how to curate his words so as to not appear nosy and yet succinct enough he could have a more direct response. But for the life of him, he couldn't formulate one. 

_Lord of Tricksters, indeed._

Solas sighed. 

Whoever gave him that moniker must be rolling in shame. He watched her body language intently, anything to bring more clarity to the situation. Nothing. 

_Her phrasing was vague enough,_ he reasoned hopefully.

But reason didn’t ease the rock that dropped inside his stomach.

Solas ignored the feeling. _Perhaps, it was a misunderstanding on my part,_ he insisted. He was good at this, finding alternative ways of interpretation. He forced himself to relax. Instead he took the stool she had graciously offered. They were both quiet as she resumed her work. Solas watched as she collected elfroot leaves for drying, a process he knew was necessary to make certain medicinal poultices.

“I was planning on stopping by your cabin this afternoon,” she said, unaware of the chaos that twisted and toppled inside his mind. “I’m glad to see you are looking better.”

His cheeks warmed. Solas nodded in response, his tongue was heavy in the caverns of his mouth, but Ellana wasn't looking at him, her attention absorbed by her activity. 

Solas felt restless. _Fenedhis._ He couldn’t recall the last time he felt fidgety. Wanting to do something with his hands other than drum it at his knees like an undisciplined child, he blurted. "May I assist you?"

Her eyes snapped to him, then she chuckled shyly. "Oh, no, Herald, it's okay, you shouldn't exert yourself on my account."

"Solas, please," at her surprised look, he amended, "At least when we are in private."

Her brows furrowed. Uncertainty and wariness was written all-over her face.

Solas felt a pang of grief. "It was only a suggestion."

"...Okay, well, just don't expect me to get used to it in one go."

"Did you think me unreasonable?" He tried to tease.

Ellana's eyes went wide in alarm. 

Solas fumbled, "A jest!"

"Oh," and she let out a relieved laugh, covering her pretty mouth with her hands. "You got me there, I'll admit."

"It was in poor taste, I'm sorry."

"No, no, I mean, you are _the_ Herald," she looked down and back to her work. "...I guess you don't know your effect on people."

A lesson, that. "Would you allow me to make amends?" His hand motioning at leaves she had been plucking.

"You are insistent," she said, not unkindly.

"They say it is part of my charm."

Her lips quirked. "Why do I feel you are now playing me, _Herald,"_ she asked playfully.

"Never. I am sincere."

Her smile widened, showing the little adorable gap between her front teeth. "Okay, fine. You win."

"May I?" Pointing at the stalks that mountained on her right.

"Yes, please," she hefted a palm-full of them and grinned. "Thanks, Solas," she said shyly.

Solas smiled back and took them. He did not see the ceramic plate at the edge of the table near him. His elbows clumsily toppled it, almost breaking the thing if he had not caught it by magic.

Ellana giggled.

And all else was drowned by her laughter. Feeling his temperatures rise, Solas began to sift through the bouquet of elfroot, separating the leaf from the stalk. Ellana had a melody on her lips, humming as she worked.

"What is that song?"

"Hmm? Oh, it's called the Three Ravens. Have you heard of it?"

"I don’t believe I have.”

“Well, I’m not going to sing it. People pay for that, you know,” she teased. 

Solas smiled, recalling her melodious voice, finer than any lark, and to hear them from her lips again...

“I would had I a coin with me.”

She laughed and waved him off, “Believe me, it’s not worth a penny. _Anyway…”_ Ellana breathed out before he could disagree. “The song is about these three, conniving ravens plotting about their meal. They were about to dine on a fallen knight, but of course! His loyal companions prevented the carrion birds from pecking at their former master. Not long after that, his love had kissed his wounds and whisked his body away, never to be desecrated.” 

She had not delivered it in a tune, but she did tantalize with flourish, the words fluttering from her tongue wistfully like reading out loud a well-beloved poem. She sighed before continuing, her lilt returning to her loose drawl. “It’s quite popular in the tourneys. Really catchy tune.”

“I do know of a similar ballad.”

"Really?” Her eyes glowed like frost in the first light of dawn.

"Yes. An _elvhen_ ballad about two ravens." 

“Will you sing it?”

“I am no troubadour. I would not offer even if it were for free.”

"I'm not so sure about that. You have a pleasant voice."

Heat rushed to his cheeks. "That is… well."

She giggled again and Solas found himself chuckling along. Ellana leaned forward, her chin resting on her hand, her fingers dyed in yellowish sap. “Tell me how this one go.”

“Not quite as romantic as yours. It has the same premise - also a fallen knight - but his companions had betrayed him, his love had abandoned him, and no one knew nor mourned his passing. The ravens were allowed to scavenge uncontested.”

"That is tragic," she breathed, taken in by the story. Solas nodded. The leafless stalks were piling up on his side. Ellana continued with feeling, "Not going to lie, I prefer the other one. His love and companions _never_ betrayed the poor knight like that."

"It is hopeful," Solas readily agreed. "It is worth noting that the song was penned during conflict. I suppose it speaks to the climate of its time.”

"It is sad..." her brows had now furrowed and she was looking down with a frown.

Solas wanted to bite his tongue. Perhaps he ought to consider first what he should share. 

"I’m sorry. I am grim and fatalistic."

"No, it's okay. Tragedy is a part of life as is joy." She looked up to him thoughtfully. "Besides, each of us go through life differently. It's just... I suppose, it's just worth remembering that both opposites can be true at the same time."

"Fairly put." 

She smiled and he returned them. They both settled back to companionable silence. The commotion of the day seemed to have taken the backseat on his mind. He could hear the boiling in the kitchen, feel the comforting warmth of the hearth, the smell of elfroot as each stem broke from their hands. 

He could stay here forever.

It was then that Felassan entered without much warning, walking in and throwing his damp cloak on the bedside. 

Ellana stood up. “Don’t just throw your cloak off like that. You'll ruin the mattress _,_ ” she reprimanded, taking the wool cloth and folding it. "How many times do I have to tell you that?"

"As many times as you must, I'm afraid."

The sight of their casual domesticity was damning. Solas felt like a fool. His deductions had been right the first time, but fickle hope made him wish otherwise. He felt his chest tightened and his sight turned blurry. Solas did his best to ignore them and returned his attention to the leaves, plucking them fast and fervent.

"You're an embarrassment," he heard her say with affection, salting his open wound. "The Herald is here to see you."

Felassan clasped a hand on his shoulder. "Solas! I wasn't expecting you."

"Yes," he replied tightly, swallowing the dark feelings before they could lash out. That would not be fair. For Ellana nor for Felassan. He inflected a neutral tone, hiding the cracks within him, and yet a slither of poison leaked out. "I was not expecting any of this either."

"Is this about the calibrations?"

Solas nodded, trying to casually avoid his eyes. He didn't trust himself at the moment, and Felassan was one of the rare people who knew him far too well. 

Ellana's actions made perfect sense now. Her hesitance. Her aversion to his forwardness. She had already devoted herself to another.

It would be unwise to long for a heart that was already taken.

He bit his cheeks. _This changes nothing._

His goal had been to save her from the brutal claws of fate, and in a way, he already did. Felassan has his virtues. He couldn't ask for a better man. He should be happy for her. 

For them both.

Solas silently followed Felassan out of the cabin, not even giving Ellana a glance. It was cold and rude, but... He couldn't. 

He _shouldn't._

Otherwise, he wouldn't be able to walk away.

Felassan's voice rooted him to the present.

“The Aegis is done, it just needs some refinement. I thought you’d do the honors.”

Solas hadn't noticed they were both standing in the village's gate. They were now fully-repaired, as per his suggestion to the commander, and the stone walls expanded from its north and south end, wide enough that sentries can patrol along its ramparts. They passed through the arched door. Solas could see Cullen training the men near the encampment by the lake while Rainier and Cassandra watched them from the sides.

“I’ve been fiddling with the reaction time of the barrier. Projectiles like ice spears or lightning bolts are fine, even a ballista, if it was even possible to drag such bulky machineries this far up. But I’ve been having trouble with calibrating it to the speed of a fireball." 

Solas waved his hand and flung an arcane bolt. The Aegis reacted, shimmering a net-like barrier, spreading its subtle patterned lines, revealing the spell's entire coverage. It nullified the bolt the moment it made contact and retaliated with its counter-spell. Solas casually raised his hand and the Mark devoured the magic back to the Fade. He tried a different spell, slower and harmless and it was able to flop through to the other side.

Cassandra was now looking at them questioningly. After seeing Solas, she seemed to calm. They did regard Felassan as a Dalish _apostate._ They were wary of him just as they had been wary of Solas before. He nodded to Cassandra and she returned it, seemingly content for the time being that she knew he was involved.

They went back inside the village and climbed the stairs. Felassan continued, "If I adjust its sensitivity to velocity, even a meaningless phenomenon, like encountering a hapless runner might trigger it. And that isn't good."

"No."

"I think this is the best set up, but still," Felassan rubbed his temple. "Depending on the distance where the potential caster is, its possible the deceleration from its terminal velocity is dramatic enough that the viscosity of the barrier might not thicken if the hostile spell lacks the necessary penetrating power to activate the effects. One of it gets through here, there's a possibility the damn thing can still burn down half of Haven.” 

Solas curled a finger on his chin. “Have you taken into account the ablation process? The Veil rapidly deteriorates the efficacy of any spell.”

Felassan stopped and re-evaluated. “...Ah, yes. I did, but what I didn't calculate was the effect of the Veil based on distance. My mistake.” 

"It takes a while to adapt our calculations with it."

"Yes, it does make it more complex," Felassan concurred. “We have templars now too, we don't have to rely on mana countering techniques like we used to.”

Solas tuned his mana to the runic markings, sensing its ambient power, assessing its framework, weaving his magic through the sinews that meshed the entire tapestry of the spell, checking and re-checking. Satisfied, he continued, “Certain defensive formations can cover for these lapses. By then, the spell would most likely erode before it causes damage.” 

_I can work with this._

He looked at Felassan and gave him a nod, “Well done.”

"Do you think the Elder One will still come after you now? You have both mages _and_ templars at your side."

"I am still a threat to his plans. After all the machinations he had put into motion simply to ensure I do not interfere puts into certainty that getting rid of me is the most important thing in his mind." Solas leaned on the trailing along the battlements, eyeing the forested lands beyond the lake. "He had come this far for his ambitions, he will not give up easily."

Felassan followed his sight, "But Time-Magic…"

Solas remained quiet.

"Not even the wisest in Elvhenan could predict the consequences of that. It's one thing to reshape lands, but to mold Time itself," he shuddered. "The Fade forgets _nothing."_

Solas did not speak. _Another tally on my ledger._ He would pay any price to see his goal through.

_Any and all._

He inhaled slowly, preparing for another agenda he wished to raise to his friend. 

"You seem to have found yourself a companion," his voice was so steady he felt proud of himself.

Felassan startled, "Hmm? Ah, you mean Ellana. Yes, quite unexpected, that. I'm very fond of her actually. Sweet girl."

Solas exhaled slowly, releasing the _heaviness_ he felt ever since he had found out about them both. It was not exactly relief, but it was not exactly resentment either.

Collecting his pain and ache and sealing them inside, Solas sincerely said, "...I am glad to hear it."

"Well, what can I say? It's hard not to get taken by a charmer."

A different worry bloomed anew. "Do you think such attachments are wise? You are aware she is not like...us." It surprised him he didn't sound bitter at all.

Felassan shrugged, "I don't think it matters."

"You do not think it matters?"

Felassan's brow was raised, "No? Why would it? I have lived with the elves of today and they are more than just _quicklings."_

Solas smiled at that.

His _heart_ was in good hands.

Solas nodded quietly to himself. Easing the tension within him, he let out another sigh. In time, he could learn to live with the fact she had not chosen him. That Ellana had fallen for another. _Perhaps, even someone better._ Jealousy would do nothing but demean the people he cared for. He would hurt. He would mourn for it in private. But he love her more than being loved, and he would smile for them and the tears would be sweet.

They deserve the happiness.

"Besides, she's really fun and feisty," Felassan grinned and Solas' thoughts burst like bubbles.

Solas snapped to him, finding his careless and casual words unnerving. Not to mention the scenarios they conjured... Solas blew the image away before he could fully visualize them. 

"...Do you not think it should be more than that?"

"More of what?" Felassan furrowed his brows as if confused, then waved his hand to dismiss him and laughed. The sound started to grate on Solas' ears. Then the bastard winked suggestively. "I was actually thinking she should go off with you. I think you'll find her a pleasant company as well."

Solas' mind darkened. He gritted his teeth, hard. "What are you _implying?"_

Felassan recoiled in surprise. "Spicy aren't we this morning? I'm not suggesting you _jump_ her."

Solas' fists clenched. Magic started to thicken between them threateningly, thick as oil and so ready to be kindled into a roaring wildfire.

Felassan's eyes went wide in alarm and he raised his hands up defensively. "Wait, wait! I think we got off the wrong foot here!"

"I will not have you speak of her so degradingly," Solas' voice was low and dangerous.

"What?" Then Felassan's expression twisted to realization, "Good grief, Solas! We're not what you think we are!"

"And what _exactly_ is that, Felassan?"

"What exactly are _you_ thinking of?" Felassan pointed a finger up. "First things first, you have to lay out the accusations before the defendant can defend themselves, didn't Mythal teach you that?"

True, but he wasn't feeling _judicious_ at the moment.

"Affection is _not_ something to toy with."

"I am not toying with anything! She asked to be _my_ apprentice!"

Solas blinked. "Your… apprentice."

"Yes! My apprentice! _Hahren? Da'len?"_

"Ah."

It was as if his friend doused him with water. Magic loosened around them. Solas shifted from one foot to the other.

"Sheesh! What's gotten into you, accusing me so cheaply like that? And you didn't even apologize!" Felassan tucked his hands behind his cloak, "Unbelievable, you act around like a jealous -"

Felassan stuttered.

And stared.

_Deny it._

Solas found he couldn't. His mind ran after words that kept on fleeing. 

Felassan's eyes widened, his mouth forming a perfect 'O'.

_Fenedhis._

“...Sweet Sylaise, Solas... You _like_ her!”

"Felassan…" he growled in warning.

"You _like_ her!" Felassan was flapping around like a flightless bird and squawking, "Slap me to the Void and back, _you_ like _her!_ You! When? How?" Then he laughed so gleefully that never in his entire life did Solas have such a strong urge to hurl him off the battlements until now. 

Maybe if he flung him hard enough, the Aegis will blot him out of existence.

Felassan was too excited to notice his darkening mood. "This is fantastic, Solas! Oh, _wonderful!_ Should I regale her with tales of your exploits? The Great Wolf, _Fen'Ha-"_

He never got to finish as Solas twisted the Veil to snap his jaw shut so swiftly his teeth clacked. 

Looming, he warned, "See what happens if you do."

Without missing a beat after the rude interruption, Felassan patted him on the shoulder. "Oh, don't look so murderous, my friend! I am _so_ happy for you! I never," he danced away then came back and pat him again. "I never _imagined_ you-!" he gesticulated wildly, "-Right here, right now!"

"What do you mean by that?"

"Come now, friend! You're always droning on about-" Felassan acted a frowning look, _"Blah-ba-blah-_ the Veil. _Blah-ba-blah-_ the goal."

Solas wasn't amused. "Perhaps, because they matter."

"I'm not saying they don't. Obviously, I wouldn't be here if they're not, I'm just... glad for you, you know." Felassan looked at him with kind understanding.

It sent a prickle of discomfort through Solas. "I can't afford distractions."

"It's not a distraction. It's a comfort."

"No," Solas began to walk briskly, absent-mindedly playing at the patterns of the Aegis to busy himself with and dissuade the persistent Felassan.

"You can deny it all you like, you know I speak true."

Solas ignored him.

"Solas, ascetism has its charms... if you live alone in the mountains."

Solas sighed irritably. "Felassan, it is never going to work."

"Why? Is it because she's -" then Felassan's voice drifted.

_She is a quickling._

That quieted his friend.

After a long pause, Felassan offered weakly. "...It could still work."

Solas shook his head. "For several years, it could. If we could even have that."

If he yearned for even a moment...

He dreamt of the possibility. He dreamt of a way out of it: out if his _dinan'shiral._ Of the fact he was as ancient as the bones of long forgotten ruins and she a fresh breath of the first spring.

The chasm of who they are were wide and deep.

Perhaps, Felassan did not mind. What is age to an ageless being? The concept of mortality had been incomprehensible to him before. Elvhenan never placed stock on them as they never mattered - their spirits were eternal - and the love and bond formed are eternal. The bodily material was merely an instrument to the orchestra of Time.

Until he saw how entropy robbed the elves of the years owed to them, shrinking and wrinkling until they were no more. One day, she would be gone and he would continue on.

This divide was of his own doing.

But more than that, he could not inflict upon her the guilt that weighed him. If Solas welcomed her into his life, the taint of his mistakes would tarnish her as well. If his happiness meant the end of hers, then he'd rather live in misery.

_After all, this was all my fault. I alone should bear this burden._

Felassan laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Solas walked on, letting his hand slide off. "And we are getting ahead of ourselves. It is not as if she reciprocates what I feel."

Felassan jogged beside him. "Have you tried telling her?"

Solas looked at him flatly.

"Novel idea, I know."

"You aren't listening to what I just said."

Felassan chuckled, "I was. Only I don't buy all of your fatalism. Do you recall how may stratagems I have suggested that you thought was insane until it worked?"

"That has nothing to do with our current conversation."

"I disagree!" Felassan was hot on his heels. "Get out of your head for once. I meant what I said. There is more to this world than what we originally thought. It may not even be as bleak as you picture it."

Solas hummed non-commitally.

But Felassan was insistent. "Reconsider my friend. If anyone can figure out how to make this work, it's you."

This was pointless. His intention was to keep her safe, not to pursue her. The world had not deserved her. The Inquisition had not deserved her.

He did _not_ deserve her.

Solas waved the discussion off. "We best return to our work."

Felassan chuckled and shook his head, "Oh, no. You're not doing anything right before we are about to stitch that sky up." Solas narrowed his eyes and Felassan grinned. "I may or may not have made an elaborate speech about how _exhaustion_ can sabotage a mage's ability in focusing and casting spells. So, a certain _important_ someone here in Haven will not move a muscle or strain himself, lest we mess up the grand finale."

_I see. That is why none of the advisors asked anything of me._

Solas remained impassive. 

"Baffled by my brilliance, huh?"

"I am not infirmed."

"Lady Love doesn't agree. She was really worried about you. First thing she reported to me in the morning. So I suggest you follow along, unless you wish to upset her?"

_The manipulative bastard._

Solas stared at him, long and cool. "Felassan. Are you certain you wish to play this game with me?"

Felassan started to backpedal. "Whoa, Whoa, Whoa! I'm trying to help!"

"Are you?"

"Okay, okay, no mention of Ellana, got it!" Solas ignored him and kept walking. "Aaaah, Solas, pleeeease!" Felassan cried, clinging to his cloak and making them both dawdle ridiculously along the ramparts. "Don't drag _that_ spirit into my dreams, I've been running from it for ages!"

Solas irritably swatted his hands away. "It's a spirit of tenacity, what did you expect?"

"It's a spirit of thorn-in-my-side!"

"Perhaps, you should not have gambled with it in the first place."

"Wisdom made me do it!"

"It was not a dare, it was a rhetorical question. It was not Wisdom's fault you were not wise enough to know the difference."

"Ha-ha… You're _so_ 'pun'-ny," Felassan drawled miserably, now pulling at the sleeves of his tunic. "Come now, Solas, don't do this to me."

"I will not, if you will take your hands off of me."

Felassan let go immediately. Solas straightened his clothing. They walked in silence towards his cabin...

...for about a second.

"So, what do you think of candlelight dinner this evening? She's a really good cook, do you know?"

Solas refrained from groaning. "Felassan. Return to your tasks."

"I can even arrange you two-"

“No.” Solas flicked his wrist and shut the door to his face.

Still the obnoxious sentinel spoke behind it, "Or we can do casual!" His voice was muffled in a way if someone had pressed their mouth on the wooden frame. "How about in the Singing Maiden? Yes? Yes? We'll see you there!" A pause then another sudden outburst, "Bring something nice, I know Josie gets you those milk breads. I can read the shipment logs!" Another pause, "Bring extra, too! I don't want to share mine!"

Solas waited for the quiet to return and when it did, and when he knew Felassan had now left, he began to laugh.

His friend had played him brilliantly - annoying him to the point that he would be forced to flee back to the solitude of his cabin, right where they all wanted him.

Solas has now the day to himself. A day not being the Herald.

Of not being _Fen'Harel._

The duties of both were hardly distinguishable. 

He washed his face with the water from the jug and took his coat and boots off until he was only wearing his tunic and loose trousers. He pulled a journal out of his pack and rolled the canvas cloth where he stored his vine charcoals. Perhaps, he could pass the day with sketching, that sounded relaxing. He was about to open the leather-bound pad when he heard a knock.

_I hope this isn't Felassan, again._

But the rough voice of Harritt greeted him at the door. "Herald, your commissioned piece has been done. Let me know if there's any chinks and whatnot."

Solas nodded. "My thanks."

He took the set of cuirass, bracers and boots that were wrapped with a protective cloth. Perhaps, he could do the fitting now, and return them later if there was anything amiss. He had on the cuirass and greaves when another knock followed. Harritt sure was excitable. From one craftsman to another, he understood.

"Enter."

He didn't look up from wrestling a stubborn knot in the wrist guard when a soft, amused voice said, "Do you need help with that?"

_Ellana._

Stunned, he didn't react when she moved forward and tightened it in a Dalish knot.

 _"Ba'lin_ often asked me to do that for him before game. It's a pain to do one-handed."

"It is. Thank you."

She smiled and nodded. Then she walked back to see the entire ensemble. It was a brigandine armor made of dark leather, reinforced by sleeves made of steel that stopped short of his elbows with an added layer of pauldron along his shoulders. The boots were made with the same leather too. It was light-weight, allowing its wearer to have greater mobility and flexibility. Solas felt warmth rush to his cheeks under her assessment.

"You really look good in it," she said at last.

The heat intensified. "Thank you."

"By the way, I have something here for you," she took out a small bottle from her pouch and handed it to him. "...It's something to help you relax and sleep."

Solas took it. His fingers glided at her palm. They were so smooth and soft. He swallowed. "I appreciate the gesture."

She looked at the vial fondly, "I used to have nightmares as a child. Our herbalist taught me this recipe when things start to feel too much. I also added an essence of Yellow Siren,” then she blushed. “It’s not really a necessary ingredient. I just like the smell and I do feel it works better, but that’s probably just me.”

“Thank you.”

“I hope it will help you like it did me.” 

He cradled the bottle reverently in his palm. "I am certain it will."

Her eyes crinkled with joy. "Well, then, I'll be off."

Solas watched the door she had left long after she was gone. He then eyed the bottle in his hand. He popped the cork. A heady blend of floral redolence and a tang of spice bloomed in his senses. 

A promise of summer and lasting sweetness.

In this quiet, little cabin in Haven, Solas finally felt at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs Three Ravens and Two Ravens are real life folk songs, the former did come first before the latter, but for the sake of Thedosian lore, I inversed it as it makes sense considering Dirthamen's two raven followers/pets.
> 
> The Aegis Felassan had set up is similar in fashion to the Aegis of the Rift the Inquisitor gains in JoH, albeit in a larger scale.
> 
> Again, special thanks to Dore for beta-ing.
> 
> Two more chapters till we close in on Act 1. I'll be slowing down on the next update, perhaps the next one will be on March?
> 
> Anyway, hope you guys enjoy! 
> 
> xoxo


	8. The Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"The everlasting mistake with men is that they see the fall in love. But Love is not a fall, it is a soaring above an abyss. And the higher the flight, the more beautiful and alluring appears the earth…”_

It took them several hours to trek the mountain to the summit where the cracked bones of the Temple of Sacred Ashes lay open, its entrails still bare and bleeding, blanketed by snow and ash. Raw mana pulsated around him and if Solas closed his eyes, he could hear the drumbeat of life hammering from the lesion in the sky. The nacreous eyes of heaven gazed down on him judiciously. Beyond the whirling clouds of greenish thunderstorm, he could see the nebulous outline of paradise. 

The world as it once was. The world of his People. The world he had destroyed.

The Anchor hummed inside his skin.

There would come another time when he would revisit the same decision again.

Anxiety and terror coiled around his heart like a poisonous snake. Solas clenched his fists until they were white.

It felt as if whatever he would do, he was damned. Trapped in his own burning tower. Every waking moment, every decision he made moved him closer to the edge of the windowsill, either with the wind howling on his face or the fire licking at his heels. And every single time he wondered, what would end him first? 

The fall or the flame?

The commotion behind him interrupted his reverie. For the moment, he was balancing himself precariously on the thinning ledge.

The mages chattered excitedly amongst themselves like boisterous academics witnessing a progressive experimental method for the very first time. Whispers of theories and hypotheses flew off rapidly. Fierce and unmoderated debate sprung and died and renewed again in succession. Crates of lyrium were hefted by the templars. Unlike the mages, they were grim and morose, eyeing their former wards as was their habit and then eyeing the Breach - their attentions darting back-and-forth, uncertain which of the two felt more like an immediate threat. 

Within these possible conflagrations of opposing allies, Solas found the elven Grand Enchanter Fiona - a titular that was more said in habit and respect for its history rather than her actual authority over the once Circle Mages - beside Dorian, another outcast. The two talked with clear distance from the lumping crowd of distracted mages, and far from the Chantry officials that wanted to witness the ‘miracle’ of sealing the Breach. They were even further from templars that watched them with more suspicion than the rest. 

Vivienne expertly weaved herself between the two groups. Solas sometimes saw her exchanging words with an enchanter or two and then the next moment, she was nodding with Mother Giselle and expressing an air of confidence and authority beside Commander Cullen. Vivienne was quick to find an opportunity to steer the matter favorably to her side, isolating the Grand Enchanter by emphasizing her inadequacy in handling the matters at Redcliffe. 

_Politics._

Solas was impartial to either woman. While they disagreed on a lot of things, Vivienne was familiar whereas Fiona was an untested stranger. How she had handled the Mage Rebellion was indeed appalling. Still, he was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. If she can survive Vivienne's machinations, then she earned the right to stay in her post. That is until someone else proved worthy. 

There had been discontent within the Inquisition now that the templars were disbanded while the organization had mages populating its ranks. Templars and common folks raised the issue and so far, it had yet to be mediated. While his words held a lot of weight, Solas was still not the Inquisitor and it wasn't the right time to push his own bias: he mainly observed as the advisors discussed how to best handle the situation, while he drafted potential policies in the privacy of his mind. 

For now, Solas was content to wait and see. The concern for the Breach trumped all and his focus was on the re-acquisition of his orb.

Felassan was with Cassandra, reviewing the risks and ironing the final preparations required to finally seal the Breach once and for all. Solas saw them heading his way.

“Are you ready, Herald?” the Seeker asked, a tint of concern in her voice.

“I am.”

At his periphery, Solas saw Cullen signal the former templars, alert and ready should things go awry as the mages dispersed into their designated positions.

The air was heavy, carrying the weight of the significant moment.

Solas felt Cassandra's hand on his shoulder, a questioning gesture. He nodded resolutely, never straying his sight from the wound in the Veil.

"Mages," he heard Cassandra shout from behind him. 

Felassan instructed, as Solas had done so before in his place. "Focus on the Breach. Let the Herald's will draw from you.”

Solas raised his hand and the Anchor latched on to the lesion in the Veil like a surgeon, stanching the gaping chasm with precise and purposeful maneuver. With his mastery of the Anchor, the Breach closed with a sigh, leaving behind a barely visible discoloration that disappeared against the dawning light. A clean wound without a scar.

Cassandra was the first to come beside him, “It is done.”

 _For now,_ Solas kept the thought to himself. Instead he nodded to her and turned back. Felassan gave him a wry smile. Solas saw the mages squinting at the aftermath of the Breach and dare he say they looked a bit disappointed. No one could see where the Breach had been unless they knew precisely where to look at precisely the right time. It was a rather anticlimactic end to the menace of their time.

***

There was a lazy, drunken ambiance that cloaked Haven now that the Breach has been closed.

Ales were poured, fiddles had been strummed and a merry circle danced around the bonfire as a robust celebration flowered in winter. Everyone was outside. Ellana recognized some of the Herald's companions amongst the jungle of people, exclaiming different versions of their myriad adventures.

The common folks were singing the Herald's praises. It seemed like a lifetime ago when she once heard his name was derided - _prisoner, murderer, heretic. Knife-ear._ She pushed past the crowd and decided to find herself some secluded space to observe the revelry.

There were talks of the future, of where to go next and how to pick up fragments of old lives left behind when the disaster struck. Perhaps, it was a blasphemous thing to admit or even feel, but now that the Breach was closed, Ellana felt a sense of _loss._

The thrill of having a mission, a goal, a purpose had rejuvenated something inside of her and now that the end was looming near she felt oddly deflated. Relief was a different sensation than the rush of survival. She hadn’t felt so alive when peril had been so close - it was as if, everything she did _mattered._

Which was stupid. They were fine. The danger has passed. She should be grateful.

_I wonder what will happen now?_

Ellana rested her head on her palm as she watched Minaeve hooked arms with Seggrit as they did a bibulous twirl. Beth and Flissa joined in, the Singing Maiden closed for the day, instead Maryden played her lute under the sky. She even caught Adan laughing alongside the Grey Warden and an elven girl in bright red tunic. 

The Inquisition would surely continue closing the Rifts. There was still the mystery as to who or what caused the Breach. Perhaps, they would continue to find answers. Perhaps, they would never know.

Ellana sighed. It was a selfish feeling. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder what she would do next. After being part of something this important, returning to her clan felt _small._ Constricting _._ Guilt squirmed in her guts.

A group of people bursted into loud guffaws as the dwarf named Varric spun another wild tale about bears chasing them around the Hinterlands. She felt a smile crept on her lips. Well, she really was being stupid about this. She stood up and decided to find a nearer barrel so she could listen in and enjoy the celebration like everyone else.

A dusty rider passed through the gates. A woman pulled her child away from the path of trampling hooves. Several of the villagers stopped and gawked, Ellana among them. A soldier caught the reins of the trotting horse and its rider dismounted before the beast came to a full stop, demanding hastily: "Sister Leliana? Where's Sister Leliana?"

“In the War Council-”

The rider already ran ahead, leaving bewildered townsfolk in her wake. After a while, one of the drunkards called out for more ale and the laughter and music resumed once more, the interruption forgotten. But Ellana continued to eye the Chantry door as it closed with a sinister thud.

  
  


***

"They were sighted along the area near Emprise du Lion and rounded this side of the mountain, crossing the Frostbacks via Sulcher's Pass," Iselan reported to the War Council in a clipped tone, still breathless from exertion. 

"That is madness, with winter looming, it would be a death march," Cullen said disbelievingly.

"And that's precisely it," she said, her accent had the light tilt to it, traces of pronunciation when a person was used to speaking in _elvhen._ Iselan crossed her arms, bronze-skin turned golden in cold Fereldan land. Andruil's markings were now gone from her face. "It is a _death_ march. Their armies are the undead."

"Numbers?" Solas addressed her.

There was no trace of recognition in her eyes. He couldn't fault her, several millennia had passed since the last she had seen him and even then he looked vastly different. As far as his other agents were concerned, they all thought him still in _uthenera._ In this timeline, he had decided to only reveal himself to Felassan. When he needed to speak with them in the Fade, it was in the form they knew well and his finest mask: in black fur and six red eyes. 

'Solas' could be considered a common enough name not to raise immediate suspicion. But he was certain some of his own people would attempt to unearth the origins of the 'Herald' for 'Fen'Harel', just as this Inquisition's Nightingale was on his trail. _The duplicity is necessary,_ he convinced himself.

Iselan made a mental calculation. "Twenty to thirty thousand."

"Thirty thousand!" Cullen echoed incredulously.

"From what I could see, I believe they had an obfuscating spell shrouding them, making a precise counting near impossible," Iselan continued, "They probably had more or less…" then she added belatedly, "Commander."

The war room was silent.

The Inquisition only numbered around twenty thousand fighting men and women, and they were distributed all over Ferelden. The people that remained in Haven were closer to around eight thousand give or take, and not all were soldiers. By numbers alone, they were in a complete disadvantage.

"That is all, Trapper." Leliana dismissed the agent. Iselan bowed and left.

"Are we vacating Haven?" Josephine had asked when the doors closed.

"It could be our only option," Cullen gritted his teeth.

"No." All advisers turned to Solas. "We stand and fight."

Cullen looked alarmed. "Herald, Haven could not stand an assault!"

"Perhaps, we could move to Skyhold? It is a far more durable fortress," the ambassador suggested.

Solas shook his head. "It would only exhaust our forces.”

"I agree," Cassandra supported. "And it would be a disadvantage to us and not to this Elder One. The dead don't tire."

"We can ask the Crown to grant us refuge considering we did save Redcliffe," Josephine proposed, a worried hopeful tone in her voice.

Cullen scratched the back of his neck, "That would take time we do not have."

"We also have the mages in our midst. Taking them out of the kingdom was the crux of our allegiance and they will not be welcomed back to Ferelden," Leliana interjected. “The Elder One has outmaneuvered us."

"We can't give up. There must be a way," Cassandra insisted.

Cullen rested his hands on the table and leaned forward. "Be that as it may, but with the state of Haven, we hardly have any chance to defend it. We have less troops and a village full of civilians."

Silence befell the advisors as they eyed the map displayed on the table as if it would miraculously sprout an answer.

"We strike offensively," Solas intoned after the pause, injecting calm and assurance into his voice. He needed them to believe they could make it out of this.

_And they will._

The War Council looked at him with equal intrigue and disbelief. 

Cassandra asked desperately, "How?"

Solas tucked his hands behind his back, rounding the table as he studied the village's cartography.

"Regardless of the skill of the mage, spells deteriorate over great distances, which means the Elder One and his Venatori will be forced to march forward in order for their incantations to be effective." Solas pointed at the forestry to the northwest side of Haven, on the other side of the lake. "We cut all obstruction. Their undead army would most likely be sent in first in an attempt to soften our lines, their Venatori mages would not be too far ahead, otherwise their necromantic bond would lose their effect. The moment we are vulnerable to be attacked, so will they. Our mages can return their barrage behind the battlements, where the Aegis Felassan had set up could guard them while the Elder One’s forces are exposed."

Cullen had been nodding as he spoke, warming up to the plan. "The Elder One most likely expected a faulty defense - an easy target - not an all-out assault.” 

Solas nodded, “We have the element of surprise." 

Cullen’s finger began to draw on the map as well, "We can set up _chevaux de frise_ from the logged timbers and have the mages coat them with summoned fire."

Solas nodded again. Not only would it slow their advance, mage-fire was also more potent than ordinary flame, latching quickly on loose clothes or putrefied skin, couldn't be easily doused by mere cold and could be triggered as a surprise. Simple and effective. Those that survive the barbed inferno could then be cut down by their forces. 

"We will have the templar knights form a phalanx in the vanguard and mix their numbers with Inquisition soldiers," Cullen continued on. "Lure in their undead mass forward who will then be followed several yards by the Venatori mages. Once they pass by this point," he pointed at the line just past the lake, "We can trigger an avalanche using the trebuchet at the south. That would demolish the opposing mage arm and exorcise their remaining forces. The survivors could then be finished off with double-envelopment, from here and here.” He marked the woodland from the north and south of Haven, a perfect place to hide ambushing units. 

“Without direct command, the undead will be quick work by then," Cassandra finished.

"Still, this is risky."

Solas gave a wry smile. "Riskier than facing the Frostbacks in the cusp of winter with an undead army hounding our steps?"

Cullen sighed, "Point taken."

Emboldened, they further refined their strategies. The mages will be divided. The offense will be led by Grand Enchanter Fiona, the defense by Felassan, both of them situated inside the battlements and within the effects of the Aegis along with Leliana’s archers. The spell may be an outstanding defensive barrier but it was not infallible. It needed constant focus to maintain and, with its massive scale, multiple mages to do so, but Haven would not be torched, not while it was in effect.

Meanwhile, the supporting mages will be led by Enchanter Vivienne, down on the ground with the rest of the infantry, dealing with the enemy forces up close and personal, augmenting the soldiers with blazing swords and hindering hostile forces with disrupting fields. The flanking forces would be led by Knight-templar Barris augmented by the Bull's Chargers and Cassandra with Knight-Templar Fletcher as her second. Between Barris and Cassandra, they would share the remainder of the infantry, several hundreds each.

All of the divisions would be under the command of Cullen. Which was perfectly fine with Solas. While he is the Herald, when it came to the ranks within the Inquisition, he was technically outside of it - an entity of its own - the linchpin of the organization, but ultimately an emblematic presence more than an actual leader. Injecting himself to the post might only disrupt the chains of command.

They unanimously agreed the civilians would be retreated in the tunnels beneath Haven, used by pilgrims according to Chancellor Roderick, now long since been cleared out and with open routes with which to escape. Amongst their numbers were the children, the old and the untrained mages. While having magical firepower was essential to turn the tide of battle, most mages were academics - they have no prior experience with open warfare. Spirits are drawn to heightened emotions and a battlefield would be a feast. Add this to multiple mages drawing power from the Fade, the Veil would be ultimately weakened. Most mages would then be vulnerable to possession. A single Abomination could cause unimaginable havoc. The cons outweigh the pros.

They further debated the Herald’s role in the upcoming battle. Solas had argued that no matter what, it was apparent that the Venatori were after him personally as was evident with their ploy in Redcliffe, having him at the middle ground raises the efficacy of the entrapment for their two flanking units. And Solas needed to be at the forefront of the battle.

It was one way to lure the dragon out as early as possible.

And Corypheus with it.

But the advisors did not know of this. Iselan would not keep such vital intelligence and there was no way for Solas to warn them without revealing his own hands. 

This was something he would have to contend with on his own.

The Magister was arrogant and he wanted to show his power. He felt affronted that the Inquisition stole two of his potential armies away from him and was now eager to crush them for it. The moment he would think that Solas would be vulnerable, he would most likely strike for the lethal blow. _And he will._ With his larger forces, he would think himself invincible - his victory assured. Once the dragon appears, Cullen would sound the retreat and Solas would have to be left behind to give them all time to escape.

Giving him the perfect opportunity to take his orb back.

Then Corypheus’ campaign would end. The Aegis bore his magical signature, the rest of Haven will be safe from the surge of power he would release to obliterate the Magister and his allies.

The only way for this to happen was to deliberately put himself in harm’s way. 

“It makes sense,” Leliana said of his suggestion as Solas expected. The woman loved gambits. "Had we not done the same when we confronted the magister?"

Cullen was still hesitant. “I still think it would be best if you remain at range, Herald. With Enchanter Vivienne, perhaps? The Mark is a useful arsenal to have, but I don’t think it’s necessary to put you in the vanguard for it to be effective."

“Our strategy hinges with our ability to surprise our enemy,” Solas said confidently. “Rapid dominance. The Mark alone is worth more than hundreds of mages. One spell and we can twist their perception of the battlefield and destroy their will to fight.” 

_Once the Venatori see their so-called god can easily be triumphed over._

“I still don’t see why this couldn’t be done with you safely on the rear.”

Solas smirked. “You said it yourself, Commander. I am their Herald. Our people should be looking ahead, not behind them.”

Cullen’s brows furrowed, eyeing Leliana, Cassandra and Josephine for support. The Nightingale gave a small smile, the Seeker shrugged while the ambassador had the look that said, _‘he had you there.’_

Cullen rubbed his neck again and exclaimed, “Maker’s breath!”

Despite their unease for their upcoming trials, the five of them shared a brief moment of camaraderie. Their minds had been put at ease now that they have a plan to work with. The War Council was adjourned in a relatively high spirit. The advisers all went their separate ways to delegate the duties at hand. Solas was the last to leave, eyeing the map of Haven.

If everything went according to plan…

_I will finally retrieve what is mine._

  
  


***

Haven was going to be under attack.

Hammers rang at the smithy, arrows were fletched, swords sharpened, soldiers rehearsing their drills. There was constant smoke in the Chantry bakehouse as the brothers prepared to feed an entire village. Everyone was sent to work, from the skilled craftsperson down to the children, acting as runners. For now, the people still had a merry climate around them, the reality of the oncoming bloodshed was still far away and the celebrations they have had but a few moments ago had not yet left their system. In fact, they were chatting around energetically, the imminent danger became the fodder for their gossip.

Ellana felt cold. _Gods save us._ Not a moment ago, she wished for a reason to stay in the Inquisition and some divine humor must have answered her. _This isn’t what I wanted._ She was in the middle of helping in distributing the watered down ales when Felassan called her out. 

“Ellana!” He jogged in her direction. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“I’ve been around,” she wiped the sweat off her brow. “Is there something you need?”

“No, not really,” then he grinned charmingly. “Can I not simply seek you out for your fine company?”

She rolled her eyes and smiled. "You very much can." She shifted the weight of the firkin on her arms and began walking, offering the remaining beverage to the workers who asked, filling their tankards and skins.

“You’ve assimilated well,” Felassan commented as he walked beside her.

She had, hadn’t she? Ellana had been doing odd jobs for the Inquisition ever since Felassan began leaving for field missions. She was always there to lend a helping hand - for Adan, Minaeve and now the Chantry kitchens. She had been listening closely when Commander Cullen had made the announcement, with Threnn following it with active recruitment, quickly delegating tasks left and right. Ellana was one of the first to enlist, now finally a proper member of the Inquisition.

If there was anyone here she felt comfortable with, it would be Felassan. She breathed and unburdened herself, “Are we going to be alright?”

“Do you not trust the Herald?”

She furrowed her brows, “I do, Felassan. But I have eyes. Haven is a village, not even properly fortified, and it’s situated downhill. I don’t have to be a brilliant commander to piece two-and-two together.”

“It’s not too late for you to leave, you know?” he said not unkindly.

She pretended not to see the few who went past Haven’s gates and never returned. While she understood them, Ellana found she couldn’t leave her friends behind. No matter what. Not when all of them had stayed.

“I’ll take my chances here with all of you, if you don’t mind.”

Felassan nodded and gave her a cryptic smile, “Never underestimate a man who has something to fight for.”

At several steps ahead, Ellana saw Solas amidst the crowd, eyeing everyone’s progress critically. When they reached hearing distance, they heard him instructing a young mage with his spell as he stacked a log onto a pile. The young mage's concentration wavered when one of the branches brushed his spine. Solas flicked a wrist, preventing the massive wood from dropping on everyone else's heads.

"Keep your attention at all times. Never let anything lose your focus," he reprimanded.

The mage looked like he swallowed stone, "I-I'm sorry, your Worship!" His pale skin was now red in labor. It was obvious the young man had never left the confines of the tower. A beetle flew past his feet and it took all his willpower not to shriek.

"I will continue the lesson, your Worship," an elderly woman interrupted. She was wearing the teal robes of a Circle Enchanter.

“This needs to be done before sundown.”

The woman furrowed her brows, her prim lips thinning with disapproval. "Spellcasting requires significant concentration, your Worship. Manipulating magic is a delicate endeavor."

Solas looked annoyed, but his voice remained even. "I am well-aware. I am asking to perform it with reasonable swiftness."

"How's everything going?" Felassan interjected cheerily.

Solas turned his back to the enchanter and moved on. The woman looked mildly offended, but she brushed it off with a regal scoff and began to focus her attention on her pupil. Felassan caught up beside him while Ellana trailed after them. 

Solas looked distracted, his eyes darting to the operations surrounding them, mentally calculating each and every movement. He muttered something under his breath as he shook his head. It took him several beats before he answered Felassan’s inquiry with a resigned sigh. “As well as could be.”

“I think it’s going fantastic considering these people were at each other’s throats not too long ago.”

Solas hummed noncommittally, “I suppose,” he paused, thinking then nodding. “Everything is still on schedule.”

Ellana looked around at everyone's smooth cooperation. “This is amazing. I’ve never seen several mages working in tandem with laborers like this before. It’s so efficient.”

Solas swiveled to her in surprise. Felassan was chuckling.

A ruckus from ahead made them all turn. There was a disagreement between a group of loggers and carpenters. Solas furrowed his brows, but Felassan tapped his arm and said, “I got this,” then he looked back to her and winked.

Ellana was confused. Solas looked conflicted.

They stood like a lost cog for a while, him still staring at where Felassan had left, a tiny frown marred his lips. Ellana adjusted the small barrel in her arms.

“Some ale, Herald?” 

He looked at her then and relaxed. A small sheepish smile tugging his lips, “Yes, please.”

He had no tankard with him, so she scooped a ladle full and brought it to his lips. He had to bend low from his waist to sip from the rim while she had to stretch her arm for it to reach him. It was an awkward exchange and Ellana couldn’t help but laugh. Solas chuckled with her, wiping with as much dignity as he could some of the ale that spilled out from his mouth.

“Sorry,” she said, still laughing. “Here,” offering a clean kerchief. He seemed to deliberate whether to take the cloth from her hand or let her wipe the ale on his chin and somehow they ended up compromising on both. His fingers hovered along her knuckles as she cleaned the last of the ale. “There you go, your decorum is restored.”

“I apologize for being so unseemly.”

“Don’t worry, _Herald._ I don’t think anyone important was looking,” she whispered conspiratorially.

“Importance is relative,” he replied wistfully. Solas cleared his throat and continued, “Regardless, posturing is a habit that needs to be constantly maintained.”

Ellana smiled playfully, “I’ll let you off the hook, one time.”

“How generous,” he smiled back. He shifted his weight. “May I accompany you in your rounds? I am to oversee the rest of the work after all.”

“That would be nice.” 

They walked in companionable silence.

“Would you like me to assist you with that?” he motioned at the barrel.

“No, it’s fine. It’s not as heavy as it was a while ago.”

Solas only hummed in response.

Ellana looked around them once more, admiring how everyone seemed to function like a perfect choreography, not a single performer out of place. Magic did make up all of the hard labor, and with it, everything seemed to move along without sweat. 

“No wonder Tevinter had conquered all of Thedas then,” she breathed in wonderment, eyes never straying at the spells that shone as an after effect. “Kind of makes you think what it would have been like during the times of Arlathan.”

“Imagine spires of crystal twinning through the branches, palaces floating among the clouds. Imagine beings who lived forever, for whom magic was as natural as breathing. That is what was lost,” Solas supplied beside her.

Ellana couldn't recall _h_ _ahren_ Isene mentioned anything as amazing as that. "How did you know?"

"The Fade is full of treasured memories. If one knew where to look."

She felt a pinch of jealousy. For all its dangers, there was something rewarding in having magical abilities. Being able to control dreams and seeing the past sounded like a boon. "That's amazing. I wish I could see the world as you do."

He gave her a small, strained smile.

“I wonder if we could ever have it back.” Ellana continued. “A land all elves can call home. It sounds like a dream.”

Solas was somber. “Elvhenan was an empire like any other. Its beauty is a veneer to its cruelty.

Ellana was surprised to find his voice dripping with resentment. “I suppose it was naive of me to have hoped otherwise.”

“Forgive my cynicism. I find history is full of tragedy.” He breathed deeply, then his face tried to contort into something pleasant, “Regardless, it is worth preserving.”

Ellana only nodded. It is a thing though with history, isn't it? When _hahren_ Isene regaled them about their honored tales, it was always with a tinge of regret and anger: to the humans that stole from them their culture and their immortality; to their fellow city elves who turned their back to their proud history and instead bowed their heads to the human overlords, shunning the Creators in favor of the foreign Maker. 

Maybe she was right, maybe she was wrong. 

“All things end, I suppose. It’s hard to come to terms with that, especially if the loss is still deeply felt,” she mused. “As a Dalish, we are taught to find ways to preserve the past. To keep tradition alive. I guess it is a noble cause.” 

But then Ellana recalled how she was derided for even suggesting using dwarven ingenuity to further improve the _aravels._ Or her people exiling her Da for simply falling in love with the _'wrong'_ woman. 

“But there comes a point where our stringent focus to keep it hinders us from growing, from _adapting,_ to the needs of our time," she gazed dazedly along the horizon. "It’s just unfortunate, I guess.”

It made Ellana think of this old Rivaini saying she had encountered before. As if plucked from her own memories, Solas began to recite them verbatim: “‘We all walk towards the future backwards, that is why we stumble.’” 

Ellana gaped at him. “Exactly! We have to remember who we were, but then we shouldn’t forget that all of us can be something _more…”_ Ellana drew her hands to her lips and laughed disbelievingly. It was so uncanny. "This is so amazing! I was just thinking of the exact same thing!”

“It is good advice,” he said mistily.

“Oh, I am very inclined to agree. Where have you heard it?"

"Someone told them to me once." Solas looked melancholic. Whoever they were, it was apparent they were very dear to him.

Ellana felt sympathy. "They have given you something precious. I know when I first heard it, it felt like things began to make sense to me."

Solas quietly nodded.

"It was a wonderful thing to share."

He gazed at her with fondness, "She is wonderful."

Ellana felt her face heat up. There was something in the way he said it that made her heart lurch. It was as if he could see her beyond her skin and through her spirit like - like he _knew_ her. 

“You are remarkable,” Solas said softly after a pause, she was certain she heard a note of affection in his tone. Ellana realized he had a romantic voice, as if words were meant to be caressed, not just spoken. “It is rare a thing to be able to see the world as it is and yet continue to remain kind. I admire that.”

Heat pooled to her face and Ellana was stunned speechless. Solas wrung his fingers into loops. 

Without a word, they resumed walking. She felt their bodies swayed closer to each other in each step, the silence emphasizing his warm presence beside her, the warm feeling growing inside of her.

A group of workers caught his attention then and the moment left. Ellana inhaled a lungful before she recalled where she was and what she was supposed to be doing. One of the people shovelling hollered for her and she felt grateful for the distraction.

They set out to work on their respective duties, coming back together again as they progressed sector by sector. It was midday now and the exertion made everyone sweat despite the chiller season. In the middle of handing out relief for parched throats, Ellana watched as the Herald interacted with the mages, the templars and every laborer that came in contact with him - joking, smiling and encouraging them all constantly. When he returned to her side once more, Ellana beamed at him.

“They really like you.”

Solas looked perplexed. He watched the people around him almost self-consciously. As if to deliver her observation across, one of the diggers tipped their hat at him as they passed by. Another group wished him well and he nodded dazedly. There was a look of surprise on his face, as if it never occurred to him at all.

“People’s opinions change with the wind,” he concluded after a pause.

Ellana shook her head and chuckled.

“Have I done something embarrassing again?”

“Most people just say ‘thanks’ when someone compliments them.”

He blinked. “Ah. Well… Thank you.”

Ellana chuckled again.

Solas was smiling now, too. “You enjoy throwing me off.”

“I wasn’t even trying.”

“It is alarming,” he said with all seriousness. “How easily you see through my lapses.”

Ellana was flummoxed, the heat returning to her face. “I… don’t think they are lapses per se, Herald. I don’t think I see anything special.”

“I thought you said the best response to a compliment is a ‘thank you’?” His lips hinted a teasing smile. 

  
  


***

As the sun began to set, Solas walked along the ramparts. 

They had been preparing for three days non-stop and everything has been set into place. They were as ready as they could be. The tents and pavilions outside of Haven were cleared now. The Chantry had been made into a shelter, every available cabin was shared. The sentries continued their watch in silence. The smithy still rang, the final hustle as last minute details were refined. There was an air of grimness around them now that the reality of their situation sank in.

Tomorrow, the red lines on the horizon would be blotted black by Corypheus’ army.

_Let him come._

Familiar footsteps raced towards him. Felassan leaned in close and whispered. "I’ve just received a report. Dhavihal told me of a mass disappearance of civilians along the Dales. Too many for deserters.” 

Solas suddenly felt cold. 

Felassan sounded choked. “You think it’s our Elder One?”

Solas’ voice didn't waver as he deduced the blighted magister's plot: “They are filling in for the potential soldiers they lost in Redcliffe and Therinfal. A civil war is ongoing in Orlais, correct?” Felassan nodded. “It’s the perfect cover for abduction. The Dales is perfectly vulnerable for this. They could fault the disappearances to war casualties, bandits and the occasional ambush from the hostile Dalish clans that often wander the area.”

“What would untrained people do? Wave pitchforks?”

“A possessed mortal could still gain martial advantages.” _If they still live._ A sudden horrific thought crashed on to him. “Perhaps, he didn’t need them alive.”

Could it be that he had committed democide in order to fill in the ranks of his army? He wouldn’t put it past the magister. He had captured slaves to work in his death mine in Sahrnia, digging dwarven ruins in Hissing Waste, it wouldn’t be preposterous for him to assume Corypheus would forcefully induct people into his troops. It explained his boost of numbers despite losing both the mages and the templars. The thought sickened him.

“And where would he amass such a number of spirits and control them, it’s not like…” Felassan blanched. “Wait. _Damn it!_ Envy gloated about this. The bastard has an ally in the Fade.”

_Nightmare._

A powerful aspect of Fear. The spirit had much to gain in supporting Corypheus’ plot, short-sighted it may be. It was in its nature to act in accordance to its self-preservation - in this case, farming the fears from dreamers.

“Sick bastard,” Felassan cursed.

Solas didn’t say anything. He didn’t anticipate this, which was foolish. He knew the magister was ambitious. He knew he would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. It was so obvious and yet somehow, he had failed to take this into account. He only made Corypheus desperate. And desperate mad men would sooner break the board than admit defeat. 

Solas felt the weight of responsibility crush him. The slab was still slippery wet. It never dried as another fresh blood was spilled on the altar of his many mistakes. 

Now was not the time to revisit his regrets. He needed his focus. He needed to remain sharp. He straightened his spine.

“We will win. We will stop him.”

Felassan gave him a long and studious look.

“We’d best rest. Tomorrow will be a long day.” Solas punctuated his word with a brisk turn, heading back to the Chantry.

"Solas," his friend called out. 

He looked back. 

Felassan's face was half-covered by the shadows cast by the setting sun, twisting his features, a film of fiery auburn light tinted everything around him. At that moment, his friend appeared like a stranger. Before he even spoke, Solas dread to hear his next words, his mind suspended between rejection and realization. 

"What will you do once you have the orb back?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Dore for beta-reading!
> 
> If you've enjoy the work, leave a comment or a kudos! Thank you for reading<3


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